The Elder Scrolls Loops
by slayst
Summary: Vvardenfell, Cyrodiil, Skyrim... Nirn as a whole is now looping. Welcome back to the Multiverse.
1. Chapter 1

Welcome, welcome.

No-one knows what caused the initial problem with Yggdrasil, the World Tree. All that is known is that at some point in the multiverse's "past", Yggdrasil was damaged. In order to stablize the various universes, the gods (or Admins) put them into a "safe-mode" of sorts, where time is looped during an important portion of the universes time-line.

Originally, seven universes were started looping by the Admins: Ranma 1/2, Harry Potter, Naruto, Bleach, Evangelion, Sailor Moon, and Slayers. Other universes followed afterwards.

And now, long after the event known as 'The Crash', and long after The Doctor's own Awakening, it's a sub-branch of the Elder Scrolls' universe that's entering the Infinite Time Loops.

Do you want a nice slice of cheese?

* * *

1.01

* * *

Sheogorath was essentially bored those last few days. Or weeks.

Or maybe was it decades?

Anyway, he hated being bored. He was the Mad God, not the Bored one. He shouldn't be bored.

He had been bored from time to time, a long time ago. But he had been someone else, a Hero, under another name. He had then given himself his title, and he'd been Sheogorath ever since.

And Sheogorath wasn't supposed to be bored. He was supposed to spread madness around, to twist and turn and decimate and eat cheese. Hmmm, sweet, sweet cheese.

Yet, he was bored and desperately in need of an occupation. His last vacation had ended with Pelagius cured by the Dragonborn – Pelagius! Sane! that was maddening. – and his time spent doing the fishstick brought to an abrupt end.

And now, he was seated on his throne, in his palace of New Sheot, closely observing his hands as there was just nothing better to do.

What to do, what to do?

Maybe Haskill would know...

"Well, well, well... What do we have here?"

Oh, he had a visitor. He loved having visitors, they were a perfect excuse to decree another cheese-for-everyone-day.

He brought his gaze upward to meet a handsome man in a purple costume, with silver hairs and a strange set of eyes. Gold, with vertical slits, like a cat.

Wait, he knew these eyes. They were HIS eyes.

Was the visitor a mirror?

No, no, an eye-thief from an alternate dimension.

Or maybe...

"Another me huh?" said the standing Sheogorath.

"It looks like it, yes. I'm a future me, I remember being me once. But I mustn't be me yet." answer the seated one.

"I see my point."

Keeping a conversation with oneself by using the first person every single time would have been disturbing to most. For Sheogorath and Sheogorath, it was just Tuesday.

He both shrugged.

"Well, the more the merrier I suppose."

"True. And I need another throne for me."

"Why? I'm already in it."

"I'm in my palace, in my New Sheot. Thus this is my throne. I need another one."

"Fair enough."

One Sheogorath rose from his seat and fingers were snapped.

"That's a goat, not a throne."

"And?"

"Just stating." answered Sheogorath, reclaiming his throne. Which sadly, wasn't a goat.

"So, what do I want to do now?" said the other Sheogorath from his living seat.

"No idea. Do I have one?"

"If I remember correctly, the era shall be coming to an end soon."

"It shall, yes."

"And I already sent my invitation to Mundus?" he asked to his throned self.

"I most certainly did." he gloated.

"Then I'll come around in a few days."

"I'm talking about me, right?"

"Why, yes. Not me me, just old me. Me me will come around, eventually."

"And the other me?"

He shivered, pictures of Jyggalag plaguing his mind.

"Haven't seen me in a bunch of centuries." He answered, a wicked smile on his face.

He summoned a whole cheese. That called for a celebration.

* * *

From the hallway, Haskill was worryingly eying his master that was and his master that would be. He had to wonder how such an event could have happened.

He wasn't prepared for this.

The country wasn't prepared.

Nirn as a whole wasn't prepared.

He couldn't help the small shudder that ran up his spine.

* * *

1.02

* * *

It was just getting better and better.

The first time, it had been pretty fun. He was in his palace, and suddenly he still was, yet he wasn't. There was another him, which wasn't him yet. The old him had joined a few days later, and boy had it been messy. Blood, an eye, a little betrayal...

And just when old him had been due to become him, he was once again a fishstick, with the Dragonborn running around Pelagius' head.

Sheogorath had been mad.

He was looking forward for a conversation with a himself that was truly himself instead of himself or old himself. But instead, he was back there, being a fichstick.

Maddening.

But he had moved on.

Sheogorath was mad, but he always had been, and he always would be. Wouldn't make any difference.

And yet, just as he was accustoming himself back with boredom, he wasn't in his new custom goat-throne anymore. Yes, a living one, but shaped like a throne.

Instead, he was in a cell.

He knew that cell, it was his old one, or his old me's one anyway.

And just like his old me, he wasn't himself yet. Except that he was, but he wasn't.

No calling Haskill, no eye on a staff, and worst of all, no cheeeeeeese!

And then that old fart of a Septim jumped him again and babbled useless personal matters. Twice in multiple lifetimes, the nerve of that man.

But he would be dead soon, plus the incoming assassination was making him loose his mind, so it was fine. The "no cheese" situation was in the end more dire than an old emperor.

In a reeking humid cell, secretly the entrance to an underground passageway out of the city, Sheogorath that wasn't Sheogorath yet smiled wickedly.

"No cheese! We can't have that now, can we?"

He grabbed a nearby wood mug that would make a fantastic makeshift weapon and followed Lord Almost-dead and his moron guards (like guards, but more moronic) in the sewer system.

He was on a quest to bring cheese to the world, and there was no stopping him.

* * *

1.03

* * *

"Wake up."

Another one huh?

"Stand up."

But where was he? Not in New Sheot, for sure. And not in his old cell either.

"There you go. The three of you were dreaming."

Three?

Oh, there was three people with him. Two if he wasn't counting the talking half-naked scarred dunmer.

One was a young girl, another dunmer apparently. Ginger with an athletic body, probably around seventy or eighty of age but looking twenty-five at most.

The second one was a tall and muscular blond nord, looking about thirty and dressed in the same rags as them all.

Sheogorath waved a hand.

"Hello there."

The nord suddenly had a grim face and a dragonbone claymore in hand.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in a threatening tone.

"You know each other?"

"Why, yes. Judging from the weapon, this man is most certainly the Dragonborn, but how he went from a small bosmer with black locks to a tall blond nordic, I have no idea. As for me, I'm known around Cyrodiil as the Hero of Kvatch, but if you're partial to being digested by a polar bear in a top hat, you can call me Ann Marie. If not, then just call me Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness. Charmed."

He concluded his introduction by summoning his trademark suit and a walking-cane version of his staff.

The girl took a step back. The other dunmer just left the room, screaming.

"You remember me as being a bosmer?" asked the Dragonborn.

"And a redguard. Why, shouldn't I?"

The nord lowered his sword and sighed... deeply.

"Divines, you're looping."

"Are you talking about time loops?" asked the dunmer.

The Dragonborn nodded.

"Then I'm not alone. Thank Divines."

Sheogorath grinned.

"Is your faith in the good place, little girl? If you are indeed... looping, like the two of us, then isn't Akatosh the biggest suspect out there? God of time, is he not?"

That startled the girl.

"He's not at fault. Akatosh is most certainly loop-aware, but this is bigger than him."

"Bigger? How?"

* * *

He got his response all right.

But not before being interrupted by an imperial guard, dragged with the other two to a decaying priest which just wouldn't take Sheogorath as name for his stupid survey, and given a package to deliver to some master spy.

"Morrowind. Why are we in Morrowind?"

"I'm the Nerevarine." provided the dunmer, "I'm supposed to be here."

"But I'm not. I'm supposed to being in Cyrodiil as the Hero, or in New Sheot as myself."

"And I'm supposed to be in Skyrim, but you don't see me rambling. Now let's find an inn so I can brief you both."

"Arrille's Tradehouse shall be around here. Follow me."

* * *

"You see, our reality exists alongside many others, all of them under the control of a giant divine tree called Yggdrasil. Said tree is under the care of several higher beings, mostly gods and titans. We call them Admins, short for Administrator."  
"What's that?"  
"You'll understand when you'll end in a high-tech loop. Anyway, the tree got axed by an unknown, and reality had to be put in a loop to avoid total annihilation, each loop working thanks to the existence of a being known as the Anchor. The anchor remember every reset, hence every loop, and he can sometimes make other people loop if he's close enough to them."  
A nod from the dunmer.  
"Given that you're respectively the Nerevarine, which I've never met before, and the Hero of Kvatch, which I barely spend any time with when you're Sheogorath, I can't possibly have jumpstarted you. So I'll take an educated guess and say that you're not just loopers, but Anchors, which mean that like the StarWars sub-branchs, we now have three Eras looping. You'll now relive your lives again and again until Yggdrasil is fixed, which mean that you're up for pretty much an eternity of endless adventuring."  
"Boooooring." singsonged Sheogorath  
"Yeah, no. Loops can happen with a whole number of strange variations. They're called Variant loops, and I have to warn you that the variations include race and gender."  
"What other variations are we talking about?"  
"Pretty much anything. Different Princes, different magic, bad guys being secretly good and good guys being evil, vampires feeding only on mudcrabs, necromancers wearing pink robes, cured ham working as a soul gem, dragons using the lost art of Boogy-dancing... you name it. But if that's not enough for you, you can have a Fused loop and end up in entirely other realities. The multiverse is large enough to entertain even you."  
Sheogorath wasn't listening anymore.  
He was smiling like a loon, staring vacantly into space.  
"That's... a lot to take in." said the dunmer.  
"Take your time."  
The Nerevarine mulled on it for a minute before giving a nervous chuckle.  
"I guess I was inspired to follow the Green Pact when I was a Bosmer. A giant divine tree. I didn't want to anger Y'ffre, and I definitely don't want to anger this Yggdrasil."  
"The tree can't be angered. It is sentient, but not in the way you're thinking. As for the Admins, they have bigger problems than a plant eater."  
"Really?"  
"Yes, but Y'ffre most certainly doesn't, so try to be a proper Bosmer if you can. I don't remember him interfering that often when I broke the Pact, but when he did, it was rather memorable."  
The Dragonborn would have gladly provided examples, but he was cut off by a returned Sheogorath displaying way too many teeth for it to be healthy.  
"Hey, you said that there are higher gods guarding this tree, right? Do they happen to come down from time to time?"  
"To take a break or talk to a looper, yes, they do."  
"That's excellent, annoying the other Princes was becoming boring. Gotta meet them. Maybe they love cheese?"  
The Dargonborn tried to picture Sheogorath pranking an Admin... it wouldn't end well.  
"I'm sure some do. Anyway, take those guides and you're good to go."  
"Looping For Dummies?"  
"Ooooh, good title."

* * *

He blinked.

Gone the muddy swamp of Vvardenfell, and welcome back the beautiful duality of New Sheot.

Well, it had been fun while it lasted.

Not just fun, but a real blessing for the Hero of Kvatch – the other two had downright refused to call him Sheogorath, since he was now more than The Mad God, and he had caught their damn quirk.

Anyway, the loop had introduced the Nerevarine and himself to the Multiverse, given the Dragonborn the occasion to study lost magic such as levitation, and offered a greatly deserved vacation to the Nerevarine.

In fact, the Hero had insisted on taking his place. Prophecies were mostly nonsense after all, and he was a Daedric Prince, more than capable of taking down Dagoth Ur, Almalexia, and whatever Hircine could throw at him.

But he was back home, and it meant back to boredom.

...

Yeah, definitely not.

He may not be allowed to trespass unto Nirn to take direct actions when he was a full-fledged Prince, but he had other options.

"Haskill."

"Yes sir?"

"I'm going to pack my bag. In the meantime, call Nocty and tell her that I plan to visit her realm."

"At once sir."

Evergloam would be a good start. It was foggy, depressingly dark and gloomy monsters roamed everywhere.

Damn, he was turning into an adventure junkie.

* * *

1.04

* * *

The Imperial City was a battlefield. Corpses and debris laid around the streets, soil and buildings covered in gore or eaten by unholy flames. Giant crimson claws pierced the ground and huge stone portals to Oblivion were opened left and right.

The Daedras had set foot on Nirn, determined to claim the realm for Mehrunes Dagon, Prince of destruction, change, revolution, energy and ambition. With their master leading the charge, their victory was assured.

There was just one tiny little detail they'd overlooked…

Dagon wasn't the only Prince walking the Tamrielic earth.

* * *

"Divines, no. He's here, Mehrunes Dagon is here. We were too late… it's over."

Martin Septim's voice broke halfway through his sentence. He'd just lost hope.

"Come on Martin, don't get your knickers in a twist. It'll be fine." cheerily said his friend, nonchalantly beheading a Dremora without even looking.

"But… with the barriers gone, lighting the Dragonfires would be pointless. No mortal mean can possibly stop a Prince. We're doomed. Doomed…"

His sanity was starting to crumble. The prospect of an imminent and painful death can have that effect on people.

"Hey, breath, stay with me Martin. Breath… breath dammit! Look, we went through hell and we're still alive. Dagon has nothing on everything we saw, so don't you dare give up now."

A little light popped back in the emperor's eyes.

"Yes… You're right."

He was far from fine, but it would have to do.

"But what can we do? Mortals weapon ar useless, we would need a divine intervention to… Yes… yes, the amulet of kings. It's a gift from Akatosh himself, he left a part of his essence in it. If I was to open it, it would grant me the power to banish Dagon."

"It's great, but let's make that plan B."

"What? Why?"

"You do know that the magical backlash would consume you no matter what, right?"

"I'm the emperor, it is my duty to protect Tamriel with my life."

"True. But doing so when you don't have to is pretty stupid."

"So you have a better plan?"

"I do. Sit down and enjoy the show."

* * *

Death, destruction, such were the results of his cunning plan and manipulations. His plot had succeeded and soon, this world would crawl before him.

Mehrunes Dagon was extremely satisfied.

"He,,you exhibitionnistic jackass!"

What?

Who dared?

No one was allowed to call him that and walk away freely.

"Where are you filth? Show yourself!"

"I'm right here, moron."

Those insults had come from… this puny mortal?

"You are a fool, little man. You will regret those words when I'll feast on your bones."

"Yes, yes, the obligatory death threats. It's my turn now, right? Oh, I'm so scared. Somebody help me. Hey, you mind if I keep the shaking in my boots for later?"

"Who are you, madman?"

"Man? MAN? What's wrong with you Mehru? I always knew you were an egotistical sadistic BASTARD, but you got to the point of not even recognizing family. Nocty would be so… disappointed."

Those nicknames...

Dagon began to feel an unpleasant sensation making its way up his spiked spine.

"And invading Nirn like that… Exactly how many rules do you think you're breaking?"

An extremely unpleasant sensation.

"But that's not important. No, what's important is that YOU HAVE NO CLASS. And I'm saying this for your own good. Dremoras and war machines, seriously? You need finesse, guile and CHEESE, not chaos. You're a Prince, Mehru, act like it."

Oh no, why?

Why him?

"What are you doing here, Sheogorath?"

"FINALLY! Man, I was this close to spelling it out for you. Or carving it on your forehead with a poleaxe. I got this nifty new one from an alteration master in Skingrad and..."

"Answer me."

"Fine, fine. I'm taking a break, Haskill was driving me crazy… well, crazier."

"So you came to Nirn. Aren't you breaking the same treatises as I?"

"Nope, 'Tosh invited me. Or his prophecy did. It's complicated, you don't want to know. Besides, _I'_ m not breaking everything around me like a certain someone, _if you know what i mean_. Anyway, here I was, taking a tour of the country, drinking ale and trading jokes with my pal Martin, when _your_ kissass cultists came and tried to skin us. So of course, I returned the courtesy, with a rusty dirk and more efficiency."

So he'd been the one interfering.

It was no wonder that Mankar Camoran had died then.

"And just when I'm starting to relax again, I learn that you're coming yourself to kill Martin. Killing such a great drinking buddy… you're a jerk, you know that?"

"So you'll stand in my way?"

"Oh, I probably would, but I don't have to. You're about to go after all."

"You want to make me back down? When my prey is so close? I don't think so, brother."

"I would have thought that your valued your life more."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"That's fine, I won't do anything… Nocty will."

"Noc… you're bluffing."

"Am I?"

That smirk.

He hated that smirk.

"What did you do?"

His fear laced his words, but he couldn't care less. He had all the reasons in the world to be afraid.

An annoyed Nocturne was no laughing matter.

"I stopped by her shrine the other day, we had a little chat. You know how she misses the family reunions. Now, what do you think would happen, hypothetically, if she was to learn from an undisclosed source that you, dear brother, are messing around with humans instead of visiting her like a well mannered sibling?"

And he was sweating now…

"It's entirely hypothetical of course, but she would surely be beyond pissed. And you wouldn't want that, would you?"

"..."

* * *

Martin Septim watched from afar the giant four-armed daedric Lord fade away. His troops followed in the next ten seconds, leaving behind the now closed Oblivion gates.

Then his friend came back at a leisurely pace, a massive grin on his face, and the young emperor decided to express his feelings about this whole situation.

"What?"

* * *

1.01 - Me, myself and I enter in a bar...

1.02 - Back to basics.

1.03 - The Hero's back on the roads... This won't end well.

1.04 - I can totally see the Princes acting like one big dysfunctional family. And Nocturne would be the scary big sister with destructive mood swings. Sheogorath would be the crazy uncle.


	2. Chapter 2

Here comes the storm... oh, and lettuce. So let's welcome madness.

* * *

2.01

* * *

It was incredible, the number of things one could short-circuit by looping.  
You were touring Vvardenfell when someone presented you a cursed ring that would kill any mortal but the reincarnation of its former bearer? Well, it's only affecting mortals so you're not exactly concerned now, are you?  
Back in your time, you're desperately in need of Daedric and Aedric blood for a mysterious ritual designed to open a gateway to a madman's paradise? Why not use your own then, as Daedric Prince of Madness and Divine Crusader blessed by Talos?  
A prisoner's getting on your nerve, unknowingly making fun of your constantly changing race and gender problem, and you really want to dispose of him? Just summon an Aureal in his cell while you exit your own. It would have the advantage of sparring you this annoying return trip through the underground system later on.  
A master necromancer is plotting your demise? What would you think about tormenting his very soul by sealing him in a giant black soul gem and gifting it to your dear sister Meridia? She would surely teach him the wrongs of his ways and why undeath can be a bad idea.  
The Grey Fox is struggling with an identity crisis induced by a cursed cowl? Open a portal, throw the guy into Evergloam and let your sister Nocturne reclaim her belonging. Calm her down fast enough and the Count should return to his wife in no time… alive, if you proved convincing.  
A despicable traitor with a mother-complex threaten your surrogate family? The Black Sacrament isn't that hard to perform and there should be more than enough incriminating evidences in a certain lighthouse's basement.  
Hieronymus Lex is giving your guild a hard time? Reassigning him would be so easy with the emperor in your pocket. The current emperor of course, Uriel Septim. Yes, he was annoying as hell and supposed to die, but what were one measly prophecy and a bunch of Mystic Dawn cannon fodder compared to the full might of a Daedric Prince? It would also prevent the entire Oblivion Crisis, which would be a nice side effect.  
But as easy as some things became, others remained as irritating as they'd been in baseline.  
"You… I've seen you before. In my dreams."  
There he went again.  
Damned may be the Septims for their useless hour-long discussions and constant drama.  
Well, no saving him this time. Oblivion Crisis or not, the old man's babble was giving him a headache, plus he'd already saved his sorry imperial rear three loops in a row. Peace was becoming boring and he could do with a little cross-dimensional invasion.

Bring it on, Mehru.

* * *

2.02

* * *

Heart, skull and other bones, flesh, candles, he had everything. Grabbing the nightshade-rubbed dagger – the Blade of Woe, for dramatic effect – the Hero of Kvatch proceeded to stab the human remains repeatedly.  
"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear." he chanted, voice growing stronger with time.  
The Black Sacrament was a level of creepy on its own, way above undeads and close enough to Molag Bal's private recreational room, but it provided results.  
Once, he'd even used it to have Mankar Camoran killed. It had been a relaxing loop.  
This time however, things were… different.  
" _Hello, you've just reached the Dark Brotherhood's answering machine. Due to an internal conflict, our staff is currently unavailable. Leave a message after the tone and we shall recontact you as soon as humanly possible. Thank you for your cooperation and have a nice day. Beeeeep…"_  
The hero dropped his weapon, mouth wide and gaze fixed on the bloody parts.  
"What the…?"

* * *

2.03

* * *

The tension in the room was palpable.

Azura, Prince of Dusk and Dawn, was draped in a long flowing dress, the very fabric weaved from a piece of sky. She was engaged in a quiet conversation, pointedly snobbing the majority of the room's occupants.

Facing her was Meridia, a Prince well known for her aversion of the undead, bathed in a holy light and commenting on the rise of necromantic presence on the mortal realm. Each of her words was accompanied by a pointed look at another sibling.

If looks could kill, Molag Bal would be a massive horned corpse by now, just because he had created vampirism and spread it around. Rather unfair if you asked him, his gift was awesome. As the Prince of Domination and Enslavement, he was expertly ignoring Meridia's glares, instead focusing on the sparring the two nutjobs had started.

Wearing roughly tanned leather and his customary deer skull with ornamented antlers, Hircine, Prince of the Hunt and father of werebeasts, was trading devastating blows with Mehrunes Dagon, the muscular crimson Prince of Destruction. Those two were basically hotheads with too much time to spare. A family reunion just wasn't a proper reunion if one of them didn't gain a fatal injury. Fatal for a mortal, at least.

Sanguine, being the clearly Dremora-related Prince of Hedonism and Debauchery that he was, was talking about wine while drinking some. Engulfed in the discussion were the dragon-shaped Peryite, Prince of Pestilence, and the emaciated rags-wearing Namira, Prince of Decay, who both knew their stuff with fermentation.

Standing in a corner, one way darker than it should be in such a room where light came from nowhere and everywhere at once, stood the shadowy forms of Boethia, Mephala and Nocturne, respectively Prince of Deceit, Manipulation, and the Night. Their hushed secretive tones could mean the end of man and mer alike… or be a pleasant talk about the best type of material to dress with to avoid getting a tan, but lets not get too close to try and figure it out, okay?

Hermaeus Mora, amorphous Prince of Knowledge and Destiny, was seated against a wall, countless eyes and tentacles running around to leave nothing unseen or untouched. His associated artifact, the Oghma Infinium, was floating open in front of him and filling itself with profane words and other diagrams of unknown origins.

In yet another corner and just as alone as Mora, was Malacath. The Prince of the Spurned and Ostracized was sulking, his very nature making the others avoid him. Him sharing many traits with his children, the orcs, such as being prompt to enter a mindless rage, had nothing to do with it, really.

Finally, Vaermina, Prince of Dreams and Nightmares, was sleeping under a table, clinging unto the Skull of Corruption and mumbling quietly. Clavicus Vile, Prince of Contracts, was poking her relentlessly while Barbas – his talking dog of an assistant – was helping Hircine's wolf in its task of covering her in thick slobber.

Now, Daedric Princes may be considered siblings – even if the concept of gender just doesn't apply to a daedra – but family reunions were not their cup of tea.

If one of them – the only one still missing, by the way – had issued a summons, it had to be important.

"jup, nuqneH ghojmoHwI'pu'na' qaStaHvIS 'ej chep. loS QIH Hol."

Speak of the devil, he'll offer you cheese.

"Sheogorath, what is this language?" asked Hermaeus Mora, greatly intrigued. He was supposed to know everything, yet that had been completely foreign. He could tell that what had just been said had a structure, a sense, it was definitely a real language, but he couldn't make head nor tail of it. Where had Sheogorath learnt this?

"Klingon, don't bother, it's not spoken around those parts. Anyway, thank you all for coming."

"Why did you summon us?" growled Mehrunes Dagon, "I'm busy and can't lose my time in meaningless meetings."

"Don't want to get fined for lollygagging, right? Or are you more worried about your little coup on Nirn?"

"How…?"

" _What coup?_ " asked a good number of the other Princes. There was growling, hissing, sudden drops of temperature and more than a few narrowed eyes.

"Remember when Mehru here violated the Daedric Pact some of us made and got his ass owned by Sotha Sil and Almalexia? Well, he's planning on doing it again. His little cult is trying to end the Septim line, which should lower the ward made by the DragonFires and allow him – or us, really – to turn Nirn into a sweet little battlefield. Ain't that nice?"

The guilty party, caught with his four hands in the king-sized proverbial cookie jar, promptly tried to escape the realm, only to be stopped by moving shadows, tentacles, weaved spider silk and a good number of sharp blades.

"Now, now, lower those weapons, please. We're civilized people – most of us anyway, no offense meant Cine – and I'd be remiss if my call today started a new war. Herm, Meph, Nocty, you're more that welcomed to keep him grounded."

"Don't call me Cine/Herm/Meph/Nocty!" hissed the concerned deities, knowing full well that he would do it anyway. Sheogorath loved his nicknames.

"Dagon's bad move put aside, he still asked a damn good question. Why did you summon us?" asked a now awake Vaermina, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

"Oh, just an impulse. It's like finding a thought-extinct species' last member and suddenly having someone come at you and give you a sword… you just have to, know what I mean?"

"Sheogorath!"

The Mad God shivered slightly under the other Princes' scrutiny.

"Why. Were. We. Summoned?"

"I… I..."

"Spit it out already!" thundered Malacath.

" **I'm feeling lonely! There, happy?"**

That caused quite a shock.

"Lonely?"

"Yes dammit. You're all here, plotting, drinking, sleeping, waging war and stuff. And me? I'm stuck in an endless time loop, almost always alone, and forced to do and redone and reredo the same things again and again and again. I stop Mehru as my mortal self – sorry pal, it never works –, become the new Divine Crusader, rush Ril, become me again, kick old man Lag around – yes, he's coming back – and then have to rebuilt the Isles because sane me nuked them. I'm tired of it, I want this loop to be calm… I _really_ need a vacation. So can we all just forget plots and other low blows, stick around, relax, and have a good family time? Thank you!"

"A time loop?"

"I felt nothing of the sort."

"Me neither."

The Anchor snorted.

"Not surprising. It's happening to hundreds of realities at a higher level, way way above. From what I gathered, only Tosh knows of it around here, and even he can't do anything about it."

"Do you have any proof?" asked sternly Boethia.

"For all we know, you're pulling our legs." added Peryite. "Again."

"Sure."

And Sheogorath started to juggle… with Azura's Stars… five of them.

The Prince of Dusk and Dawn stared at her brother, mouth wide opened. Her gobsmacked expression was mirrored all around the room.

"But… but I've only ever created one..." she finally managed to say in a weak strained voice.

"And I have twelve of them. I get clumsy past five, but I'm working on that."

That caused a few chuckles from the other Princes.

"The lot of you have nothing to laugh about. I once dulled Goldbrang and the Ebony Blade, and gave them to a couple of children for them to spare with. Cath's hammer was used in a Whack-a-mole, Vil's mask I wore for Jester's Day, and Merhu's razor is in essence my fingernails' cleaner. As for Nocty's so precious Skeleton Key, I tried to sell a bunch of them to Thief Guild's fences. They all started to scream bloody murder and blasphemy. Oh, and Bal… that thing you call a mace? I'm totally using it as paperweight."

And _that_ started an outraged outcry.

"At least, we know he's telling the truth." tried Peryite.

The others reluctantly conceded the point, Azura even more so when the Mad God pocketed her Stars and gave a little bow.

"Oh, and Herm? Don't even think about it. I'm pretty sure that the probability of you finding anything is close to zero, but if you do find something and mess up, our entire world will go down the sink. Permanently."

The Prince of Knowledge whose numerous eyes had began to glow lost his 'Yeah, SCIENCE!' mode immediately.

"That… would be bad."

"You don't say?"

"Don't be rude." admonished Azura, smacking Sheogorath up the head. She was clearly still pissed about that Star business.

"I'm not being rude, I'm being sarcastic."

"Do you want another one?" asked the Prince of Dusk and Dawn, eyebrow elegantly raised and hand at the ready.

"I'll pass."

"I thought so, yes."

Silence stretched for a few minutes, Sheogorath smiling sheepishly at the other Princes.

"So… why you?" finally asked Meridia, taking it upon herself to be the spokesperson.

"Why me what?"

"Why do you experience those loops? Why you and not us?"

"Supposedly, because I'm sane. Or the sanest around, at least. I know, risible. Truth is, I'm pretty sure that it's mostly because of me. Old me, mortal me, the Hero. Remember? I'm not like you Meri, where you're constant, I inherit my title from myself every other century. And Destiny has this me holding many titles, many mantles, including Sheogorath's… I'm a nexus, a central point or something like that. Made me qualified to be an Anchor. The Nerevarine is one too."

"The…"

"Yeah, nice guy, really. Or gal, depends. Oh, and the Last Dragonborn will loop too. Same gender problem, stupid tree glitch."

"Another Dragonborn will rise?"

"Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes. Set your clocks to the year 201 of the Fourth Era."

"Wait, those loops send you to other Eras?"

"Eras and worlds, yes."

"That Klingon language..." began Hermaeus Mora.

"Learnt it when I was a Q, in the Trek branch. Let me tell you, omniscience is extremely overrated."

"I feel you." answered the mass of tentacles.

"Thanks. But enough of this depressing stuff, let's move on to the good part."

"That good part being?" warily inquired Hircine.

The Prince of Madness began to smile.

The others began to curse silently. They knew that smile too well. Someone was about to either experience extreme psychological pain, or be shamed for life. And life could be long when one was an immortal Daedric Prince.

"Well, if I _do_ travel around, the loops still mostly keep me here and now. But one _here_ isn't always the same as the last _here_ I experienced. Think alternate realities, most with barely noticeable differences… and a few with things so _huuuuge_ that I just have to immortalize it. In other words, it's blackmail time." he finished, a wolfish grin on his face.

His audience gulped.

"So, who wants to see an eight-year old Nocty cuddling a raven plushie?"

Things descended into pandemonium.

* * *

2.04

* * *

Welkynd stones were weird.

Those glowing cyan crystals, usually found in Ayleid ruins, had been a mystery since the First Era. With the premature end of the Wild Elves, the true nature of those magical artifacts had been lost to history.

A few among the scientific community claimed them as a sort of universal control switch for Ayleid mechanisms, backing their claim with the stone's natural ability to gather magicka to later release it at the owner's convenience. Most traps in those ruins working on pure magicka, that could be a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Were it not for those others that, while not refuting the stone's properties, kindly reminded their colleagues that a used stone quickly dissolved into nothingness, which would make the system inefficient. Plus, for a mage to gather the amount of energy required to activate a mechanism would be way more time-saving than encasing a new stone in the wall every single time, and those elves were known slackers.

The firsts guys would then argue that their explanation still held, as the stones simply had to be used when no mage was available.

To what the others would answer that Ayleids, despite being long dead slackers with an ego as big as some Altmers, managed to create Guardians still active to this day, were the builders of both the Imperial City and _the whole freaking school of Alteration_ , had retained a knowledge on spells dating back to the Dawn Era, and thus most likely bathed in magical theory from birth, making the simple idea of an absence of mage utterly ridiculous. In fact, the stones had to be nothing more than light fixtures, since they were used as such in Ayleid ruins. The previous owners of the place had to know best after all.

The firsts, faster than a khajiit on a moon sugar high, would brush aside that answer that they considered too easy, and try to salvage their escaping dignity with another theory. Maybe, with that many mages running around, or rather casting around, the Ayleids wanted to have access to a quick magicka supply. The stones would then be purely what they were known to be, magicka refilling devices used by tired mages after exhausting trainings or researches.

To those guys' excitement, this was currently the most acknowledged theory.

Good for them.

The same persons were wrong though, when they claimed that the stones would one day disappeared from Nirn. For them, the many raw crystals growing around the ruins were meaningless. The current limited knowledge preventing one from replenishing the stones' inner reserves, the limited number of existing stones on the planet, and the many expeditions made by scientists or adventurers would see one day to the complete disappearance of those relics.

What those brilliant minds couldn't know, nor even comprehend, was the fact that they had had this very same debates for years and years, Eras even. As it happens, their entire reality was stuck in a time loop by the grace of a divine computer called Yggdrasil and its numerous Administrators.

An additional unpredictable event was that The Hero of Kvatch, also known as the Daedric Prince Sheogorath, frequently encountered a fascinating scholar during his many travel.

Lithnilian was an Altmer sorcerer whose entirely focus for the past ten years had been the study of Welkynd Stones. He'd convinced himself that the first steps to understanding them was to understand their growth, and the others researchers had unanimously decided that he'd gone bonkers.

When after those ten years, Lithnilian had stumbled unto Bramblepoint Cave, where Welkynd Stones crystallized naturally, he'd almost had a heart attack.

When a cute khajit sorceress had helped him, at first with the retrieval of his notes, and then with the theory behind the analysis of the phenomenon allowing the stones' formation, he'd started to regained hope.

When the research had progressed enough for the two friends to magically deconstruct and understand the magicka draining effect of the stones on their surrounding, he'd genuinely smiled for the first time in years.

And when their analysis had provided them with means to reproduced as well as invert the siphoning process, they had enough knowledge to theoretically modify a stone.

Their prototype was ready under two weeks.

* * *

"So?"

"The runes are working perfectly."

"I KNEW IT! I knew it was possible. They were calling me crazy, a fool, a buffoon. Well who's a fool now? Hahaha, take that you suckers."

The Hero of Kvatch was vaguely amused by the Altmer's immature attitude. She understood it, of course. The man had accomplished his goal, effectively shutting up his opponents, and he had every rights to celebrate.

Their engraved prototype worked, dispensing the stored magicka but keeping a sufficient amount for the enchanted stone to stay in one piece. Along that came ways to grow raw crystals in almost every soil.

All it would take now to make a proper stone out of crystals would be to get a master enchanter and have him research forgotten enhancements. It would be a lot of research.

Well, that would be something to consider for another loop. For now, the Hero really wanted to see how far she could go with her fellow scientist. She'd already planted their next research project.

"Hey, Lith."

"And then I'll watch them in the eyes and I'll tell them..."

"Lithnilian."

"Oh… huh, yes dear?"

"I was wondering… would the runes work on a Great Welkynd Stones? Because I know this private collector in the Imperial City who's fascinated with Ayleid relics, and I heard somewhere that he just happens to own one, so I've been thinking…"

She didn't even get to finish her sentence. The sorcerer had grabbed her by the sleeve and started to run, eyes like a burning inferno of renewed passion.

It would take twenty minutes before he realized that he'd left without his clothes, notes, money… really anything at all. The old elf would turn tail and dash for his house, if possibly even faster.

The hero would follow him, smile glued to her face.

* * *

2.05

* * *

Twilight Sparkle had been soloing this loop for a while now, purposely maintaining baseline. She had a plan for Discord, something involving rubber bands and a fair use of Shadow Clones.

Her carefully conceived plan fell apart when Princess Celestia began the tale of how, with the Elements' help, Luna and her had managed to stop long forgotten foes, the twin spirits of disharmony and madness.

"Great, there's two of them."

"Is something the matter, my dear student?"

The Anchor was about to answer when two pings reached her, followed by a subtle telepathic message from the local chaotic deity.

" _Go along with it."_

She decided to seat back and enjoy.

"No, everything's fine. So, what can you tell us about those spirits?"

"Really Twilight, talking about someone behind their backs? It hurts, badly."

Twilight faked a gasp when Discord appeared on the stained-glass window. She didn't have to fake one when a human wearing a dark orange and purple suit followed.

"My, those ponies are rude."

"Hey!" shouted seven of them.

"That they are. Turning us to stone, can you believe it?"

"Oh, I believe I can, yes. They _did_ deny me, US, cheese for so long."

Pinkie gasped.

"After this, turning someone to stone is merciful in comparison."

"Too true. But it gets worse, you know?"

"Truly?"

"If they were just rude, it would be fine. Griffins are rude, and they're great."

The visitor hummed with a nod. The small motion was enhanced by his pure white hair, making it almost enthralling.

"Griffins aren't pastel-colored though."

"True, but ponies are grim, despite their colors." continued Discord, "Take the Princess, for exemple. No sense of humor, no laugh at her own expense… Ponies are all dull."

"Don't you dare insult the Princess." yelled Rainbow Dash, running to the two-dimensional offender.

She couldn't make anything, as the figure disappeared with a pop and exited, still as an animated stained glass, straight out of Pinkie's mane.

"Except for that one. I absolutely loooove that one."

He'd entirely overlooked the assault.

"I don't know. She looks kinda boring." replied skeptically the human who had followed the other looper's example.

"I LOOK WHAT? I'll show you boring!" exploded the pony.

She threw the spirits out of her head, making them return to their proper shape. She then buried her entire arms in her mane, only to return with her party-cannon.

In the next second, streamers, ballons, chocolate fountains and sugar-covered cupcakes had appeared all over the place.

Oh course, Pinkie just had to join in on this.

"Okay, I rather like this one. She's good… and sugary, apparently. Sugar's great."

"I know!" excitedly replied Discord, before adopting an exaggerated pleading pose, completed with a puppy dog look. Even if, in Twilight's opinion, the yellow eyes were rather counter-productive.

"Can we keep her?"

"… Fine, but _you're_ talking care of her. And give her a top hat."

"Hey! Pinkie ain't going anywhere with ya. Who the hay are ya anyway?"

Applejack had finally butted in.

"Applejack, always the honest, brave, protective one."

"Too much for her own good, I'd say."

"And you'd be correct. To answer your question little pony, your dear Princess was just talking about us."

"In extremely offensive words, to boot. My statue almost started to spin."

"Mine too. And I have spinning-sickness."

The visiting looper visibly cringed at the thought.

"That would have been… bad. But still, better that than no cheese for over a thousand years."

"True."

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?" suddenly shouted the Princess, clearly unamused by the show.

"What? Oh, nothing, really."

The Princess almost swayed.

"N… nothing?"

"You may not not it, Celly–We don't go running around petrifying ponies after all,–but being encased in stone is hard on brotherly relationships."

"Oh my." whispered a concerned Fluttershy.

The draconequus threw her a brief look, before carrying on with his speech.

"We had many years to think things through."

"It sure put things into perspective." said the stranger.

"That it did, and we'll now get those years back. We have much to do and even more to talk about."

"You wouldn't believe the number of gossips that can be heard in the gardens."

"But you would absolutely adore them, Celly."

"Except perhaps the one about Luna and her private-tutoring the purple one over here. And I'm most definitely not talking about magical training." finally added the man with an evil smirk.

"WHAT?"

Twilight briefly wondered if there was some element of truth behind that nonsense. Could this rumor truly be shared around the castle?

Nah, impossible. The residents wouldn't spread such obviously false tales… right?

"Don't worry, it has only traveled three time across the entire town by now."

"..."

Still, it wouldn't hurt to look it up.

"Now excuse us, but we're already late for tea."

"And chocolate chip cookies."

"Oh, cookies sounds lovely right now."

"Cookies sounds lovely anytime."

The draconequus nodded solemnly.

"Well, I'm off. See you later, Celly."

The spirit snapped his fingers and disappeared from the room, swallowed by a swirling purple portal of chaotic energies.

"Hey, don't go stealing my spells!" snapped the remaining spiritual creature.

Remembering his silent audience, it turned around and bowed deeply.

"Your majesty. Little ponies. It was a pleasure."

With a snap of his own fingers, he changed part of the wall into butterflies. The colorful animals flew away in moments, revealing a clean rip in the world's fabric and the beautiful view of an exotic and entirely different location.

The opening closed as soon as the man went through.

* * *

Twilight Sparkle entered Mac's bar with a pretty long face.

The stallion had just finished setting it up for this loop and had to sigh as the view of his client. An Anchor visiting so soon was usually bad news.

"What'll ya have?"

"Whatever you can throw at me." said the unicorn in a dazed tone.

A mug of ale was poured and drunk in the same move.

Big Mac refilled it immediately.

"Bad loop?"

"Something like that."

"Wanna talk about it?"

She downed another mug, hesitated for a moment… and finally sighed.

"You had the Dragonborn around on a few occasions, right? From Skyrim?"

"Eyup." answer the bartender.

"I don't know if you've heard yet, but his loop gained two sub-branches. And one of them is Anchored by the Hero of Kvatch."

Mac raised an eyebrow and a brand new bottle.

"Problem with that?"

"The guy mantles some mad god in baseline. He turns into Sheogorath, Prince of Madness."

"Could be problematic." acknowledged Mac.

"The loops are bringing him back closer to his mortal side, but the mad god lingers. And lucky me, said god took a stroll around the palace's gardens last loop."

"Replaced Discord then? What did he do?"

The Anchor had her mug refilled three times before she managed to produce an answer.

"That's the problem, he didn't replace him. They looped together, as brothers."

"… What did they do?"

"Nothing unrepairable… I think. But it was still big enough enough for Luna to return voluntarily to the moon, and for Celestia to tag along. Also, you should definitely stock up on cheese. Discord's probably gonna be a little obsessed for a while."

Mac nodded and kept the drinks coming.

When Twilight Sparkle finally returned to her library, she thankfully no longer felt that urgent need to find a brick wall to knock her head against.

* * *

2.06

* * *

The Hero awoke with a start.  
He was in his cell, apparently human, and in full control of his powers.  
"Oh, look, an Imperial hosted in the Imperial Prison. No favorites with you, right?" singsonged a nearby cell's occupant.  
Right, that waste of a mer was here too.  
"You're viewed as a piece of trash by your own people, how sad."  
Saddest was the man's fate. He had had opportunities, ways to make something of himself… and he'd wasted them all.  
Taking a decision, the Anchor waved his hand, forcing the cells' doors open.  
"How did you…? Wait, what are you doing?"  
"You, Valen Dreth, are a poor example of a Dunmer. You're a pitiful measly little man with a tooth against the entire world, taunting, playing others for your own personal amusement. But you're infinitely more slimy and pathetic that the ones you're spitting your bile at, and the only one to blame for this wretched thing you call a life is yourself. So now, I'll give you a gift. One that will do marvel to you, personality-wise… if you survive."  
The dark elf began to panic severely, stepping backward quickly until his shoulder blades met the cold wall. He then fell on his rear, eyes moving around madly.  
"No, don't… don't come any closer. Guards. _Guaaaaaards!"_ he tried to yell, voice breaking under the intense stress.  
" **Guards? Gua~aaaaards?** Well, it looks like nobody's coming. Now… shall we?"  
The Anchor grabbed the terrified man by the head, pressuring his skull in just the right spots to set his nerves ablaze.  
"Yes, I know, this grip is incredibly painful. But you should still be able to understand me, so hear me out attentively. In every single loop I've lived so far, you're incontestably a disgusting individual, forged by the many wrongs choices you made from an early age. I'm can't make you into a saint, not really… but I'd like to think that _you_ can. So I'm giving you another chance, one to start all over again. I'm just about to erase your memories and dump you in the Isles. You will make a fresh start, Valen Dreth. And for once in your life, maybe be something else that a name whispered ominiously during a Dark Sacrament."  
A pulse of daedric energy went through the elf's brain, cutting all ties between his now limp body and repressed memories.  
Raising his other hand, the Hero opened a swirling portal to the Shivering Isles with a single snap of his fingers.  
"May the Divines prove me right and make you a better man, for I will watch over you, lost one, and I'm not as merciful toward my subjects."  
Without a second thought, the Hero threw the unconscious dunmer into the opening.  
Turning his back on the closing portal, he returned to his cell and patiently waited for the Emperor… Valen Dreth still at the forefront of his mind.

* * *

2.01 - Damn emperor and his annoying lines of dialogue. I'm glad he dies quickly, or I would probably kill him myself.

2.02 - 555-MURDER !

2.03 - Princes shenanigans.

2.04 - Who wouldn't want a magicka-refilling artifact?

2.05 - If Discord gained a temporary cheese addiction, what did Sheogorath receive?

2.06 - See you soon, Dreth. Hopefully, in a better place.

Hope you like it. Don't hesitate to review.

See you next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Munster for the Mad God! Oh, and loops too.

* * *

3.01

* * *

The Hero of Kvatch couldn't understand for the love of him how the time could be so stormy. Seriously, the sun had shined brightly not ten minutes before.

Maybe it had to do with his current destination, as a way to create the correct atmosphere around the event? Well, he'd have to look into that later, that Fafnir guy had seen him.

"At last, the final guest arrives." began the fake doorman. "I'll tell you exactly what I told the five others: you go in, I lock the door, you don't come out 'till it's over."

He smirked viciously, like only a Dark Brotherhood initiate could.

"And now I'll tell you what I didn't tell anyone else. We have the same Mother you and I, and she wants you to have the key to the house. The rest is but details. Kill the others, then leave. Now get in there, time's come to mingle, brother."

The Hero obliged.

* * *

"The sixth guest finally arrives."

The Hero almost sighed.

Maybe he'd introduce the annoying Breton to the Emperor once, they babbled in the exact same bossy way.

"Well, it's about time. Do you know how long you've made us wait?"

He couldn't believe that he had to deal with that nonsense every loop... at least the next part was fun.

"A lifetime, I'm sure... and hello to you too, polite unknown person."

"Huh... yes, hello. I'm truly sorry for my rudeness, but the five of us have already been stuck in this place for ages and it's starting to get to us."

The old Breton shook her head slightly, as if to get herself out of a daze.

"But you're here now, and we can finally begin that treasure hunt."

She smiled at him in a grandmotherly kind of way.

He returned a Sheogorathtm smile that sent shivers down her spine.

"W... well, we should introduce ourselves first, we're all in this together after all. I'm Mathilde Petit. The others are Dovesi Dran, Nels the Naughty, Neville and Primo Antonius."

"It's a pleasure."

It really wasn't.

"Now who might you be? Please, tell me about yourself."

"Gladly. I am a nameless, genderless, raceless adventurer, occasional bad guy, and daedric Mad God in my lonely hours. I'm also stuck in a time loop, which have made me a member, and even the head, of the Fighters Guild, Knights of the Thorn, Arena, Order of the Virtuous Blood, Mages Guild, Knights of the Nine, Thieves Guild, and The Blades. But right now, I'm simply a faceless assassin sent by the Dark Brotherhood to kill you and every other person in this building, again. Nice to meet you."

"Hahaha! Oh, you're a funny one. Glad to know that at least one of us has a sense of humor about all this."

The Hero almost snickered. He couldn't wait to see her face when she would realize that he'd tell nothing but the truth.

Now, how was he to kill five people with a brush, fresh sheep blood and a previously pocketed starving mountain lion, in the middle of a Skingrad's mansion, and still somehow make it look like a regrettable accident?

* * *

3.02

* * *

The Hero opened the old rotting door and entered the abandoned farm to find a macabre display.

The mutilated corpse of Lucien Lachance was hanging upside-down from the ceiling, skin ripped away in entire patches and blood pooling on the floor.

It was horrible, and he would have vomit… had it not been exactly what he had waited for.

One of the four robed figure contemplating the body heard his arrival – or most assuredly, all had heard him, but only one had reacted to it – and came straight at him.

The light provided by the torch in his hand pierced through the darkness casted by the hood, and the face of Arquen, Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood, appeared.

"Silencer, at least you've arrived. Fear not, for the crisis that has plagued the Dark Brotherhood has finally come to an end."

"Well, no, it hasn't."

"I am Arquen, Speaker for the… wait, what do you mean? We have dealt with the betrayer and–"

"And once again, I must disagree."

The woman tensed, and a silver dagger appeared in her gloved hand, seemingly appearing from thin air.

"Are you confessing to your own betrayal, Silencer?" she hissed.

"Dear Mother, no." replied the Hero. "I am just saying that Lucien was innocent. But don't take my words for it, ask him yourself."

And in a swift move, the Anchor raised a glowing hand and casted a most unusual spell. One coming from another time.

A bone-freezing cold fell like a blanket on the entire room, as the veil between Mundus and the Void was suddenly ripped apart. In a whirlwind of purple energies, a shade departed from his place at the right side of a primordial god, and incarnated itself in the mortal realm.

"Speak Listener, and I'll obey." monotonously said Lachance's ghost.

The other Speakers – which included the real traitor – were too stunned to react.

Perfect.

"Hello again, Lucien. I'm sorry for my tardiness, old friend."

"My death is unfortunate, Listener, but unimportant in the grand scheme of things." replied the ghost, in his usual wise tone.

"If you say so." said the Hero, smiling. "Now, I followed the last lead we had regarding the real traitor, and it led me under Anvil's lighthouse, where I found –"

The Hero put an arm in his backpack, discreetly accessing his subspace pocket, and grabbed a battered and blood-coated book.

"– this diary. Apparently, the guy wants to kill the Night Mother, like you killed his own after his father put a contract on her when he was but a child. After reading this, I have to congratulate him on the obstinacy. Seriously, he planned this for years, that's borderline insanity… and not the fun kind."

The Anchor threw a side-glance toward the traitor, and saw him slowly coming out of his daze. Well, time to shake him up again.

"He even kept his mother's severed head. _That_ 's seriously messed up, even by my standards."

The aforementioned part was dropped unceremoniously on a nearby barrel.

The traitor was now sweating and experiencing a certain difficulty to breath.

"So, recognize her?" asked the Anchor, looking at Lucien.

"I do not, Listener, the face is too rotten." answered the ghost. "But I believe that the lair under Anvil's lighthouse was once recorded in the Black Hand's book of holdings under Mathieu Bellamont's name."

At those words, Mathieu reacted exactly how the Hero had expected him to.

He threw himself at the ghost, blade in hand and screaming like a banshee.

"NO, YOU CAN'T RUIN THIS, NOT NOW! NOT WHEN I AM SO CLOSE! I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE!"

That confirmed to the Speakers that everything they'd just heard had been nothing but the truth, including the traitor's slight mental problem.

They reacted immediately – even though it wasn't necessary, as the idiot was trying to hurt a ghost with an unenchanted steel dagger – and brought down Sithis' wrath on him.

He was dead in seconds, and the Hero discreetly helped his sick soul find its way to the Shivering Isles. He would have something to torture if the loop extended to the next sub-branch.

Only when the corpse received his fourteenth fatal injury, did Arquen stopped the massacre and returned to the Hero's side to congratulate him.

"Had you not called Lucien's shade, the traitor would have struck us down. He may even have succeeded in his endeavor, and put an end to the Dark Brotherhood. Thank you, Silencer… or rather, Listener."

The woman smiled, and her face almost lose that eternal coldness that seemed to cling to it… almost.

"I wanted you to become a Speaker, but it seems that the Void itself recognize your accomplishments." she said, nodding toward the ghost.

The three surviving Speakers bowed and, as one, proclaimed in a respectful tone "We salute you, honorable Listener. May the Dread Lord guide your steps."

* * *

Cleaning the house had been a nightmare, but they had offered Lucien the funeral he deserved. The Hero had even left a poisoned apple on the tombstone, under the appreciative eye of the man's ghost.

Said specter was casually walking along his summoner on his way to some new adventure, when he suddenly decided to speak.

"Listener?"

"Yes Lucien?"

"Can you explain why, when I joined the Void, you were already recognized as the Listener? I would also like to know where you learn that spell you used to call me into this plane."

"I could say that it's too long to explain, but I would be lying." replied the Hero. "I'm basically stuck in a time loop. My Listener status is following me around from day one, and I already killed that bastard Bellamont in hundreds of humiliating ways... and it never gets old. As for the spell, it will be gifted to another member of the Brotherhood in the far future, and with the loops, I happen to meet him fairly regularly."

"So… you knew that I would be killed? You knew all along that your targets were members of the Black Hand?"

The Anchor sighed.

"I… yes, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… played with your lives like this."

"No, you shouldn't have."

The Anchor flinched at the stiff tone.

"Tell-tale sign of Sakura Syndrom… not good." he whispered. "Look, from now on, I'll try to convince you to travel with me to Anvil, it should keep you alive. If I can, I'll stop Mathieu right after Awakening. I'll even ask the Nerevarine to do it whenever he's around, okay?"

The ghost stayed silent.

* * *

3.03

* * *

The Hero of Kvatch usually Awoke to a new loop in one of two spots.

The most common one was his cell in the Imperial City. He liked that cell, it had its own secret passage, and a good neighbor to torture whenever he felt bored. He'd even stolen it once, and used it as his new bedroom in New Sheot. Dame Syl had congratulate him on the decoration… he'd changed it in a jiffy. Anyway, if he was in his cell, then he was mortal, and Nirn was in for a surprise.

The other point was his throne room. When that happened, he was a full-fledged Sheogorath 95% of the time, and had to keep his adventuring to his own domain, or the other planes of Oblivion. There was just has much surprise, but his siblings were the targets those times, and facing immortals allowed for heavier and deadlier pranks.

That second situation was what he'd just opened his eyes to. He was in his palace, facing a newbie babbling adventurer that had just entered the Isles. He'd recently sent his invitation to Mundus and…

Oh, interesting.

The adventurer had felt silent too, blinked a couple times, and was now openly frowning at him.

"Hey there, feeling loopy?" asked the currently daedric Anchor.

"I hate you, Hero." replied the adventurer.

And that was a yes.

"No, I'm Sheogorath. You're the Hero this time, Ghosty." grinned Sheogorath, having recognize his fellow Anchor's irritated tone.

The man's eyebrow twitched.

"Stop calling me that. I'm Nerevar's reincarnation, not his ghost."

"Po-tay-to, po-tah-to." singsonged the Prince. "And it won't really matter when you'll be me."

"I can't wait!" said the Nerevarine, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Knew you'd be excited. Oh, and just so you know… you will be my first mantling. Please, be gentle."

The Morrowind-Era Anchor's response was a curse so lewd that it simply can't be retranscribed if we want to keep the pg-13 rating.

* * *

3.04

* * *

The Hero of Kvatch, currently a female orc with a war hammer fetish, had recently finished the Order of the Virtuous Blood quest line. Dealing with vampires had awaken a kind of thirst for blood-suckers, and she'd thus decided to hunt them down for sport.

It was partly for this, and partly because she really wanted to check on her sister, that she traveled all the way to Cheydinhal, before going straight to Azura's shrine.

She would get to see Azura, something she hadn't done in quite a while. She would also dust a few vampires, retrieve another Star for her collection, and hopefully, in a couple of loops, she would finally get to see what happened when the captured soul of a cult leader madman was tortured fifty times... at once.

* * *

"You have entered a holy place, stranger. What is your business here?"

That Mels Maryon was a rather nice fellow, even if he was better when she tried – and managed – to make him join her own cultists.

In her humble opinion, everyone was this tiny bit better with a touch of madness.

"I am but a pilgrim, seeking the enlightenment of the goddess."

"Oh, a fellow believer then. And you wish to summon the Lady, excellent." he said with a smile. "Your task is quite simple my friend, you must leave an offering of glow dust at her shrine, either at dusk or dawn. And if you are worthy, she might just speak to you."

The orc thanked the dunmer and grabbed glow dust in her satchel. She then approached the statue and loudly snapped her fingers. In a ten feet radius around the shrine, day-time turned to dusk.

Every nearby cultists fell on their knees and began to pray, mumbling about a sign from their goddess. The Hero, eyes now yellow and slitted, simply chuckled. Chaotic magic was neat, she would really have to thank the draconequus the next time she ended up in Equestria.

With exaggeratedly slow movements, she offered the dust. Bowing her head, she silently pressed forward her desire for a meeting with the Prince into the altar.

Then she heard the voice.

" _I see you're putting Discord's spells to good use."_

"Okay, that was unexpected."

"Yes _, your face translated t_ _hat_ _pretty nicely. And just so you know, I recorded it."_

"Great." grumbled the Anchor.

She really needed to check her in-loop memories more often.

"Now that we had a good laugh, would you kindly share your name? It's only polite after all, no matter the dimension."

" _I'd suggest you avoid that phrase entirely, the Rapture loopers have bad experiences with it. But you are right anyway. I'm known in this loop as Endless Eclipse, Queen of the Dusk and the Dawn."_

The Prince's voice suddenly lost that mystical echo ring it had, and the being continued in a more cheerful tone.

"But you know me better as Twilight Sparkle. A pleasure seeing you again, Hero of Kvatch."

* * *

3.05

* * *

Gods and goddesses were known for being eternal, unmoving, unwavering. They represented a concept, an idea, and they kept to it. Except for the few that were governing over so many things that they were ever-changing, evolving, transforming. They were legion, one thing and it's inverse. And then, there were those that were both… Kronos was such a being.

Titan with only one affiliated domain, he was a fixed deity in the Greek Pantheon… and yet, as ruler of time, he was in a constant motion. Time was like water, always flowing and capable of changing from a calm stream to an outraged typhoon in the blink of an eye.

It was no wonder then, that his office in Adminspace was similar to a giant clockwork. Cogs were turning, clock hands were spinning, and rubies were gleaming. The floor was dripping wet with water from a thousand waterfalls. The entire place looked marvelous and felt somehow… alive, with that weird buzzing at the limit of audibility and an annoying ticking noise that would render anyone mad in seconds.

The titan had himself been that close to fell into insanity, bored as he had been.

He knew that he hadn't been the exemplary father, but his sons had just been cruel when they'd confiscated his loops. If Belldandy hadn't taken pity of him, he wouldn't even have kept the TimeSpitter Branch. He probably would have returned willingly to Tartarus, as it was preferable to an eternity of boredom.

But bored, he was no more.

If Poseidon and Hades had managed their loops just fine, Zeus had been… well, Zeus. He'd screw up in his coding, told no one, swept the loop under the rag, and returned to his porn. The loop had managed to stabilize, if barely, but no additional loopers ever Awoken in the eons that had followed its activation.

The problem would have gone unnoticed – and it had, for some time – but Kronos had been bored enough to check on his sons despite their previous threats of emasculation if he ever shown his face around them. He'd been a concerned father for once, and done a quick review of their work… only to discover this. He'd immediately brought it up to the Norns' attention, which had resulted in him being scowled for prying when he shouldn't have, but still rewarded for his discovery, and what a reward…

He had his old loop back.

Just the one, "Skyrim", but he wasn't about to go look Sleipnir in the mouth…

He'd immediately got to work, fixing the loop properly. It had been fairly simple, as Zeus had simply overlooked one detail. The Branch wasn't "Skyrim" at all, its true denomination was "The Elder Scrolls", and it was revolving around a good number of sub-branches, including the "Skyrim" one. Some of those sub-branches were useless, mostly due to Anchor Candidates' data being too damaged, but two were pretty safe bets.

Morrowind and Oblivion were activated right away, the entire universe finally stabilizing properly with the new Anchors. And with that little patch he'd just finished, it was ready to receive new loopers. In fact, he was just about to activate the first one.

The titan entered a few commands in his computer. Data began piling up quickly on his screen as Yggdrasil checked the patch and the selected candidate's compatibility. The terminal then purred like a contented cat and the loop started.

* * *

The Dragonborn grumbled as he entered his home in Whiterun, the home he'd just acquired and for which he'd been charged thrice the usual amount.

"You shouldn't have done that, Hero." he said, turning to one of his companions.

"Don't be a party pooper, Scaly. It was fun." said the grinning man and occasionally Mad God.

"Jarls in Skyrim hold high positions of authority, and they shouldn't be messed with." explained the Nerevarine. "You can't introduce us as time-traveling legendary heroes and a daedric god, and expect them to take us seriously."

"Why? It's true, right?"

"Balgruf doesn't know that!" hissed the Dragonborn. "If I hadn't be called by the Greybeards, he would have us kicked out of the palace."

"That's supposed to be a palace? Ha, my palace in New Sheot would beat the crap out of this one any day of the week… even on Mondays, when it's grumpy."

The Dragonborn and the Nerevarine had heard that kind of speech before. It seemed that the Hero was extremely happy to own a palace. He'd even told them to "Deal with it." once.

They exchanged a glance and wisely choose to stay silent.

"At least, admit that his face was priceless." added the daedra with a smirk.

"Who are you?"

Wow, new voice.

Well, almost new as they'd all heard it before, one of them more than the others.

The Anchors quickly confirmed that, yes, Lydia was indeed looking at them menacingly with a sword in her hand.

"You're… Lydia of Whiterun, right?" asked the Dragonborn. "I am the owner, and your new thane. Those are my friends and –"

"Liar!"

"E… excuse me?"

the huscarl took a step forward, tightening her grip on her sword.

"I already have a thane, and she does own this house, but you are not her."

The Dragonborn was shocked speechless, and the Hero's eyes began to gleam. The Nerevarine decided to check if their common suspicion was correct before his crazy friend could do it himself.

"You remember a female thane then? May I know what race she was? Please, it's extremely important."

The imperial looked puzzled, but answered anyway.

"A… a bosmer, but –"

"Blonde, with facial scarring? Ended up Archmage of the College of Winterhold and had an unhealthy obsession with ice spells?" tried the Nerevarine.

"No, she was a Shield-sister and a brunette, but why –"

"Damn, wasn't Awake for that one."

"I was." grinned the Hero. "Scaly took the title a little too seriously and decided to give herself a handicap by only using shields in fights. She even banged Alduin on the snout with Spellbreaker, it was glorious."

"How do you know about that?" asked Lydia in an astonished voice.

The Hero just kept grinning.

"Well, that confirms it then." said the Nerevarine before smiling warmly at the woman. It was one of those smiles he usually reserved for his two true friends.

"I'm sorry if I am being blunt Lydia, but the three of us are stuck in a time-loop, and now, so are you."

The woman's weapon dropped, and her mouth opened, but the Nerevarine wasn't finished yet.

"Don't worry, we'll explain the details later. But before that, I believe that introductions are in order. First of all, and even though I understand that it may seem completely impossible, I can assure you that this man, and the bosmer your remember, are but one and the same person. Like the two of us, he doesn't really bother with names as they constantly change, but titles are unvarying so we call him the Dragonborn. As for me, I'm known as the Nerevarine, and the guy smiling like a loon over there is the Hero of Kvatch."

"I also go by Sheogorath on Tuesdays." added said Prince, making his eyes glow yellow.

Lydia took an instinctive step back, sword going up once more.

"Thank you, dumbass. It really wasn't overwhelming enough without this."

"You're welcome. Oh, and congratulation on the new looper, Scaly."

The Dragonborn merely nodded.

He was still too shocked to answer properly.

* * *

Back in Adminspace, a certain office was currently silent. All mechanisms had stopped, as Kronos wanted to savour this moment.

He even would have smiled in satisfaction if a shout of anger mixed with clashes of thunder hadn't suddenly shook Yggdrasil from its roots to its leaves.

"FATHEEEEEEEEEER!"

Okay, Zeus had involuntary helped him vanquish his boredom, but the gift basket with the "Thanks for screwing up!" card may have been a bit too much.

* * *

3.06

* * *

The Hero blinked Awake in a black and white simplistic suburban city.  
It wasn't just the city that was minimalist. The passersby themselves had circular heads with nothing more than points for eyes, a line for a mouth, and the vague outline of a body.  
The sight he now had was pretty weird, as he could see that he was clearly male, but couldn't really tell if he was wearing clothes or not.  
He was contemplating the weirdness of this loop when he heard the cries.  
"Aaaaaah!"  
"That's a spaceship!"  
"Alien attack!"  
Oh, maybe this loop wouldn't be so bad after all.  
The Anchor reached for the protonic inversal axe in his pocket, but could only stop and clean his ears with his pinky when another man yelled something he'd never thought he would ever hear during an alien invasion.  
"Throooow the cheeeeese!"  
And they did so…  
The Hero was momentarily gone. In its place, Sheogorath was grinning madly, his eye-topped staff having found its way into his hand.  
What followed was a planetary orbital drop of whole cheeses on the invaders' ships.  
He LOVED that loop.

* * *

3.01 – Haaa, honesty can do wonders.

3.02 – Looping and being mad shouldn't be used as excuses to justify your poor sense of communication… or you acting like an asshole. Get a grip Hero.

3.03 – Who wouldn't want to mantle a God? The Nerevarine, apparently.

3.04 – Well, hello again little pony. How are you enjoying being a Prince?

3.05 – And that's why the Elder Scrolls loops can gain new loopers. For those wondering, yes, it's now canon. Oh, and welcome to the loops, Lydia.

3.06 – That just HAD to be done.


	4. Chapter 4

Please, refrain from throwing cheddar at random people. It wouldn't be very mature.

* * *

4.01

* * *

The Hero blinked Awake in her old cell, and immediately felt that something was amiss.

Subspace Pocket? Locked.

Out-of-loop abilities? Locked.

Sheogorath's power set? Locked.

Well, that was annoying, but she was used to it, so that couldn't be it. She was also female this time around, but that wasn't particularly disturbing, nor a novelty either.

"Hey! Rooty! You're a little far from the forest, huh? Looks like your days of woodland frolicking have come to a tragic end."

Right, Dreth was here too.

According to his taunt, she was apparently a Bosmer and… Wait, that was wrong. She was female, and the damn Dunmer hadn't called her a pretty little thing like he usually did. And that nickname, Rooty...

"To go from the frozen realm of Solstheim to a rat-infested hole like this... how very sad. Those walls must feel like they're closing in on you. Pretty soon you'll go mad, and the guards will cut your throat just to stop the ranting. That's right. You're going to die in here, Spriggan! Die!"

The Hero checked herself and, sure enough, discovered that she was made entirely of an ashen wood. No flesh, no bones, no proper eyes or hairs either, she was but a walking piece of hollow flora, with sap in place of blood.

Well, she'd been a number of things during the loops, from Imperial to Khajiit, from Argonian to Mers, occasionally the rarer Succubus, Drow, or Ainmhi, but that was a first.

She briefly focused on her new self, and had to admit that a Spriggan's senses were odd, even from a Mad God perspective. She was completely mute and could only see shapes and vivid colors, but was somehow able to follow the flow of sap under her bark… weird.

The various other sensations she was feeling on her exterior were oddly pleasant though. It was as if the very air, and the ambient magic in it, were gently brushing in and against her body. It felt like a warm embrace, the kind that you offered to a long lost family member when he was suddenly returning from a years-long wandering on another plane of existence.

According to the unusual weird memories she'd just received, that was but a fraction of what she was supposed to feel. With her imprisonment, her colony of fireflies had left her, cutting her from her original sacred grove of birth, and her inner glow was now reduced to a dim spark.

The Spriggan's facial expression took a more pensive look, as she contemplated her next moves. In her weakened state, she would only survive for a few days. She would have to gather a new colony, link herself with as many mystically natural places as possible across the entire country, and with enough efforts, she may even become an Earth Mother before the end of the loop.

The Anchor took a slow and steady breath – or the tree equivalent of one, at least – and smiled weakly at the sound of the approaching Emperor and his guards.

She'd come to love her loops as a Bosmer for the proximity with Y'ffre, and this new experience would no doubt prove to be even more relaxing.

That, and there was just something extremely satisfying with sending swarms of poisonous hornets after your enemies and watch them choke to death after an anaphylactic shock.

* * *

4.02

* * *

The Nerevarine, having just dealt with another Heart of Lorkhan – in 3 minutes and 14 seconds, his new record without using out-of-loop abilities – decided to offer himself a drink.

Rummaging through his subspace pocket, he grabbed the last surviving bottle of daedric mead, one produced by Sanguine himself, that he'd gained from the Hero in their last poker party.

And just as he served himself a glass, the loop ended abruptly.

The Anchor thus spent the first ten minutes of his new loop violently cursing Yggdrasil for the loss of that particular beverage.

"Who are you?"

That voice managed to startle the looper, and he ceased his angry rant to finally take a look around.

First of all, he checked his own body and confirmed that, yes, the fur he was feeling was indeed there. His body was that of a male Khajiit, which meant that he was still in his own branch, or in an extremely deep-fused loop. He was wearing nothing but rags, held by a simple rope used as a belt, and the coldness in the air was already threatening to freeze his very bones.

With another look, the looper observed that he was actually walking barefoot on a brown dirt, despite being clearly indoor as he was surrounded by four walls and a ceiling, which were for their part made out of dark stones and metals. As for the emplacement of this room, if the aggressive-looking architecture and the glowing crystals used as light sources weren't enough, the skulls and crushed bones littering the ground were clear indications of exactly _where_ it was.

While invading other planes of existence was rather the Hero or the Dragonborn's thing, the Nerevarine was still capable enough to recognize a realm of Oblivion.

"So, Coldharbour, right?" he sighed at his cellmate, whose hands had started to shine with an angry yellow energy.

"Who. Are. You." repeated the other captive, the light slowly intensifying.

The Nerevarine glanced at the blond-haired female Altmer, at her narrowed eyes and tense stance…

Well, wasn't that looking familiar.

That hostile reaction, that instant mistrust… it wasn't a perfect match, but he still remembered his very first fused loop, the reaction the Dragonborn had had after seeing the Hero, and it had looked very much like that.

Now was a perfect time to use those diplomacy lessons he'd received from the still sane Sotha Hil and Almalexia those few times he'd looped as Indoril Nerevar.

"I don't have a name per say, but my friends call me the Nerevarine. And given your reaction to my presence here, you, my fine lady, are stuck in a time loop. Is that correct?"

The golden light faltered for a split second, before coming back at full force, the woman's hands even starting to emit an intense heat.

"What do you know about those loops? Does Akatosh send you? Talk, and talk fast."

"Akatosh isn't at fault here, I'm afraid. And while I know plenty, milady, and it would truly be my pleasure to share it with you… I'd appreciate that you power down whatever spell you're about to let loose."

The Altmer kept charging her spell, not even blinking, and her eyes narrowed even more.

"Or you can keep it up, if you so desire. After all, I'm the unknown visitor here and you have no reason to trust me until I explain myself. But before that –" continued the Nerevarine, not bothered in the slightest by the open animosity "– what are we to do of the woman at the door?"

Behind the reinforced door of their cell, half-giant Lyris Titanborn was staring dumbly at the two Soul-Shrivens, one of which being an Altmer who had apparently retained enough magical abilities in undeath to cast a Nova, and the other a Khajiit with no trace whatsoever of their weird speech pattern.

Between that, and the casual mention of time loops, she could honestly admit that she was rather lost.

* * *

The Vestige didn't know what to think of this 'Nerevarine'.

Ever since Molag Bal's first defeat, she'd started to randomly pop back into this very cell, being a member of any possible Tamrielic races, and shifting between male and female. It had freaked her out at first, especially the gender thing since she'd gotten quite attached to being a girl after her first seven repeats, but she had now lost count of them and had grown… accustomed, to both the repeats and the gender issue.

One of the factor who had convinced her to just go with the flow was the fact that, if her body was constantly changing, her mind always stayed the same. She had always retained her knowledge and magical abilities, and that was making her life that much more easier with each new iteration.

The other was that, after so many repeats and questions asked a countless number of time, she had by now acknowledged that even Daedric Princes like Meridia, Molag Bal or Sheogorath were oblivious to this unusual phenomenon. It only left Akatosh as possible perpetrator, and who was she to object to the work of the chief of the Divines, especially when said work was only making it easier for her to unite the nations against the Daedric threat looming on the horizon? Those repeats were obviously a blessing of sort, bestowed upon her by the gods, and she would accept it, as their rightful Champion.

And then came that Khajiit, which had appeared out of nowhere, apparently with more answers to the questions she'd stopped to ask herself.

After a certain Companion had successfully busted them both out of prison, the Vestige had threatened that 'Nerevarine' into talking, and he'd done something she hadn't expected.

He'd stayed perfectly calm despite the amounts of magicka she'd been gathering at the time, and politely pointed out that even if the Prince was torturing kittens somewhere, he was bound to notice the escape sooner or later. While his own explanations could wait for them to travel back to Tamriel, Molag Bal would for his part most certainly not wait for them while they were chit-chatting.

The fact had been reluctantly accepted, and the three had thus rushed to the Prophet's help, fighting every Dremora getting in their way. And to do that, the strange Khajiit had been using two identical daggers… and she was pretty sure that they were replicas of Keening, one of Kagrenac's Tools. She had told him so, and he had just smirked.

Jerk.

Anyway, here they were now, the Prophet floating before them in his glowing prison. Lyris, having already accepted the fact that the Vestige had time-traveled and thus knew what she was about to do, didn't bother with explanations and proceeded with the ritual, trading the Prophet's freedom against her own.

That didn't went well with the visitor.

"WHAT IN OBLIVION IS SHE DOING?" yelled the Khajiit.

"Calm yourself, my friend." asked the Prophet in a wary voice. He was just out of his prison, and clearly unsure as to who was this man and why he hadn't seen him in any vision before. "Lyris' sacrifice is necessary as for one prisoner to escape this prison, another one must take his place."

"And you're fine with this?" asked the visitor, turning to her.

"No, of course not." replied the Vestige. "But I always come back to save her, and I really need the Prophet to be free right now if I want to have a chance at stopping Molag Bal later on, so I don't really have a choice now, do I?"

"Like hell you don't."

* * *

The Nerevarine wasn't pissed… not really.

While it didn't surprise him that this old oracle would be totally fine with abandoning their last companion to the clutches of Molag Bal in order to do whatever task the Divines had sent his way, the looper was however rather surprised and disappointed to discover that this apparently fourth Anchor of their little Branch was going along with it.

He couldn't truly blame her though, for thinking like any other adventurer, instead of like a looper. She didn't know what was happening, and had probably decided to repeat those events as closely as possible to her baseline to maintain the coherency of those little prophecies, even if it made her resentful of her own actions.

But she was a looper now, of that he had no doubt, and it meant that she had to understand that screwing up the timeline was not only possible, but extremely advised.

And he knew just what to do for her to get that little fact.

* * *

The Vestige could only watch with a mixture of dread and fascination as the strange Khajiit walked at a quick pace toward the glowing runes holding Lyris captive. The calm facade was still in place but it felt… wrong. It had a dark, twisted undertone.

Unknown to the locals, that very same face had already sent it's load of Princes, Gods and other unholy divine beings scattered around the loops into hiding… or a panic attack. In fact, it had even worked on a certain looping Prince a few times.

As he stopped, the visitor summoned a strange floating and apparently speaking crystal of sort, with which he began to dual-chant in a language the Vestige had never heard before. It sounded ancient, as well as incredibly powerful, if the insane flow of magicka that she was feeling and the humongous magical array that had formed on the ground were any indication. Almost two entire minutes of incantation later, the impossibly complex spell finally came to life in a burst of white energy, overpowering the runes and causing a magical backlash which utterly demolished the daedric writings.

The once-restrained half giant had barely touched ground when the room filled once more with a suffocation energy. But this one wasn't anything like the one gathered by the Khajiit's spell, it reeked of poison.

She recognized that energy, she'd faced it before, many times over. And even if it hadn't been the case, how could she not recognize Molag Bal, Daedric Prince of domination and enslavement, when his essence was weaved into the very fabric of this entire dimension?

The Khajiit had been reckless. By freeing Lyris, he'd basically taunted the lord of Coldharbour. Naturally, the Prince had answered, and Divines, was he pissed.

His ill-famed mace in hand, the Harvester of Souls was yelling numerous death threats at the **"** _ **puny mortal"**_ who had dared to defy _ **"the great Lord of Domination"**_ , and interspersing it with what was probably insults in daedric.

The Vestige entered a fighting stance, along with the Prophet and a still dizzy Lyris. It proved unnecessary though, as the deep voice of a perfectly stoic 'Nerevarine' made itself heard again.

"Rebirth… Cartridge load."

Affirmative. replied the strange hovering familiar.

What followed was a terrifying display of so much obscure offensive magic that the onlookers completely lost count of the number of spells in seconds, before being forced to shield their eyes from the beams and explosions mere moments later.

And through it all, the 'Nerevarine' stood his ground, unmoving, staring right at her.

After what felt like an eternity, but was most probably just a few minutes, the barrage of spells ended, and the three locals were confronted with the sight of a battered and _bloody_ Molag Bal escaping through a portal. That weird crystal had manage to **draw blood** from a freaking Daedric Prince!

The Khajiit didn't let them more time to ponder on what they'd just witnessed, and began to speak, his eyes still fixed on the Vestige.

"When confronted with fixed events, like the act of leaving a comrade in arms behind to be tortured by a Prince, or the defeat of said Prince, loopers like you and me – for that is what we are – have two choices. The rather stupid one is to go baseline, as you were doing, and let supposedly unavoidable events stay the mistakes that they are. The other one, greatly favored, is to act responsibly, even if it wrecks the original timeline to the point of rendering every prophecy around completely useless." at that, the looper – she had to admit that the name was appropriate – turned to the Prophet. "And before you complain about it being a blasphemy and a direct insult to Akatosh, know that I met an Avatar of his on a few occasions, and that he was perfectly fine with this idea. In fact, he even gave me a few tips on how to circumvent an Elder Scroll. Anyway –" he turned back to her. "– what I need you to understand is that certain things that can be avoided _should_ be avoided. I was a little flashy on purpose just now, to make a point, and you don't have to confront Molag Bal this soon every time, but nothing prevents you from rescuing both of your companions through other, sneakier means… so why wouldn't you do so?" he questioned.

The Vestige had no answer to that. Lyris and the Prophet neither, as they too kept silent. It seemed to be enough of an answer for the Nerevarine though, and his facial expression softened.

"Now, there are other things you need to know about the loops, but Daedric Prince after us or not, I would really prefer to do this on Nirn. I got plastered with his blood, and I would very much appreciate a bath to get it out of my fur before it dyes it permanently, so… ladies first."

The Khajiit thus invited the two present woman to proceed ahead, and they complied numbly. The Prophet went third, equally shocked and silent. The point had been made, and they had much to think about.

As for the visiting Anchor, he followed them with a smile on his face.

* * *

4.03

* * *

The Doctor wasn't a sane individual.

Seriously, ask anyone in the universe, and that person would tell you with the utmost seriousness that the man known as the Doctor was completely mad. When he wasn't talking in scientific mumbo jumbo, or simply acting like a weirdo, he was a fierce fighter capable of facing the most dangerous beasts in creation with only a sonic screwdriver.

Crazy.

Which is exactly why the Hero of Kvatch wasn't complaining about being stuck in a kid's body or having a lock on his pocket and abilities.

"Your idea of green peas and whipped cream was interesting, but like the bacon fried in chocolate, it doesn't seem to like me." said the two-hearted alien, emptying another culinary experimentation in the bin. "But don't worry, I know exactly what I need."

The Hero watched, fascinated, as the legendary (and Unawake) time-traveler dashed around the kitchen to reach the refrigerator.

"I need… I need… fish fingers… and custard."

The young Anchor decided that his current body excused his actions, and proceeded to hug his nocturnal visitor.

"I love you."

* * *

4.04

* * *

Calvin had barely Awoken, but he already knew that he wasn't in his branch anymore.

He usually was a six years old kid, and six year old kids just don't have fur. Then came the fact that he was walking on four legs. While not unheard of, this was still a rare event. Even when Hobbes and him traded places, he would still walk around on two legs.

Curiosity arose in the young looper, and he hesitantly reached for his in-loop memories. What he discovered made him really happy.

Apparently, he was a member of the Khajiit race. Coming from the country of Elseweyr – weird name, and so full of pun potential – those members of the 'beast race', as they were commonly known around here, were feline-related individuals whose entire life was decided by the moons in the sky. Depending of the phase of the huge scarlet Masser – strangely resembling Mars – and the smaller pale white Secunda, a Khajiit could be born as a bipedal humanoid, a feline as small as a common housecat, or even a giant tiger. Even to someone with as much imagination as Calvin, it still looked weird.

Eventually, the boy shrugged. Not his universe, not his rules, and it was fine, because as weird as this all was, it still had one good result… he was a Senche. It made him a slightly oversized tiger, and it was good, because tigers were awesome, thus being a Khajiit was awesome too.

"Being a Khajiit is awesome."

Yes, he'd just thought exactly that and… wait, that voice?

Looking to his right, the looper came face to face with another Khajiit, this one a Cathay. The individual was wearing a rough-looking leather armor, dusty jack and guards being completed by worn bracers, pauldrons, and muddy boots. A bow and a full quiver marked him as a hunter, just like the small steel dagger by his side, used for skinning his preys.

Calvin would have almost found him frightening… if he hadn't recognized the man's fur pattern, and the unmistakable glint in his eyes.

HOBBES?

The now identified Khajiit caught the widening eyes of his in-loops trusty companion, and began to pet his mount with a smile on his face.

"Hey there, Kaal'vhin, old buddy. Are you Awake, by any chance?"

Pings where exchanged, and they confirmed each other's identities. A third response coming from far away was temporarily ignored.

"I like this loop." exclaimed the usually-a-plushie tiger; before frowning. "Thought the war is concerning."

A silent Calvin saw his best friend and spiritual brother unconsciously tap his claws against his dagger.

Calvin could recognize anger when he saw it, and this time, he understood Hobbes completely.

If the Aldmeri Dominion, Daggerfall Covenant, and Ebonheart Pact fighting for supremacy weren't enough, the continent was also under the assault of a demonic lord from another dimension and his necromancer cultists.

Innocents were falling by the dozen every day, and there was nothing that a mere Cathay and his Senche could do.

Now, two loopers, that was another story.

The giant tiger's head bumped into the humanoid one, and when the hunter looked down, their eyes met.

Calvin's eyes were shinning with the same kind of light they always displayed whenever he was about to engage in a new adventure, be it a ravine to throw himself off of on his trusty sled or a new planet to explore in his latest cardboard-ship.

In seconds, Hobbes' eyes bore the same light, and he displayed a fanged smile.

"Where do we start?"

Without another word, the hunter hopped on his brother, and they were off to save the world.

* * *

This place… she didn't know what to think of it.

As a fresh associate of the Mages Guild, the (Unawake) Vestige had had the (mis?)fortune of being asked to retrieve arcane books, one of which had revealed an astral projection of the famous Shalidor.

The great Arch-Mage had immediately asked her to help him on a venture, and at Valaste's urging, she'd accepted.

And so, here she was, in Cheesemonger's Hollow. This place of mystery and danger belonged to Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness, who had somehow stolen an entire island from the Mage. Shalidor was confident in his ability to recreated this safe heaven he'd originally created for the Guild, and the only things he needed to do so were four books… books in possession of the Daedric deity, hence the Vestige's current location.

She'd first appeared in a richly decorated chamber, where a man claiming to be the Prince's chamberlain had presented her with a challenge. She'd quickly disposed of the summoned daedras, and Haskill – for that was the man's name – had allowed her to go further in the Hollow. She'd saluted – though with extreme cautious, he remained a daedric being after all – and began to look for the books in a strangely divided valley.

Green grass, butterflies, and running water on her right, lava and scorched roots on her left, such was the scenery before her.

It surely fitted the Mad God… but where were the guardians?

For five minutes now, she'd walked around, tensed and sword at the ready. But nothing had came yet, and it was frankly unnerving. She had already lived quite a few adventures, and refused to believe that Sheogorath would let strangers walk around his realm without throwing random lethal menaces at them.

"ROOOOAAAAAR!"

The sound of an angered beast! The Vestige spun around in a split second, mentally preparing herself to face any threat that the devious Prince could have come up with.

She wasn't prepared for what she suddenly faced.

"He says that you can't steal the flag until you've touched the 7th base."

That was a Khajiit speaking… a strange one. He was clad in leather armor, had a bow and a dagger, and carried himself as a seasoned adventurer. That appearance was ruined thought, by the black mask on his face, the multicolored party hat on his head, and the balloon tied to his quiver.

"Shouldn't there only be six bases?"

And that came from a white-haired Imperial in an orange and purple stylized outfit. He was also wearing a mask and a party hat, but they were assorted to his suit. Next to him, a white flag was hanging from a pole.

"Roar."

And that, of course, came from the enormous Senche tiger next to the other Khajiit. He too had a mask, though he didn't have a party hat. His fur was also covered in doodles.

"He added the last one at the last minute."

"I see… and where is it?"

"Roar."

"He's not telling."

"Well, I'll just have to cheat then." shrugged the Imperial.

"ROAAAR!"

"You can't cheat, Hero." translated the Khajiit.

"Why? Calvin did just that, didn't he?" replied the now dubbed Hero, pointing at the tiger. Was that a rubber duck in his hand?

"No, he invented a new rule."

"Roar." seemed to agree Calvin.

"Enlighten me then, Hobbes, wasn't it cheating when you used a microwave to hijack my radio station's signal and diffuse Mariachi music? I'm pretty sure that you didn't have a fresh salmon on you at the time."

"I didn't, but that wasn't cheating either. I just edited a previous rule. As a footballer masquerading as a supermodel, I'm exempted from the salmon rule. It's even reported in the official notebook, see?" replied Hobbes, pushing the document against Hero's face.

The Vestige was completely lost, but she was still pretty sure that this crumpled paper – one he'd apparently just grabbed in his pocket before randomly scribbling lines on it – couldn't possibly be an official document.

The Imperial looked pretty convinced though.

"Oh… I'm sorry for accusing you then."

"Don't worry about it. Calvinball is always confusing to newcomers, and it only gets clearer after a few thousand tries."

"Well, if it's as diverting as Chaos –"

"Roar."

"He says 'It is'."

"Then I can't wait." smirked Hero. "But if you excuse me for a minute, I have a guest."

At that, he turned to the still speechless Vestige.

From this close, she could clearly see his yellow eyes, and as she discovered the crazy man's identity, a shiver traveled down her spine.

"Hey, Vestige-chan, how's it going? Here for old Shali's books again? Well, not again I suppose, as you're unAwake." said the Prince in a sad voice; before cheering up. "Anyway, I will send the books to your guild master, with a little enchantment on them to annoy Shali. Nothing drastic, it will just prevent him from working on the text and replace every document he's looking at with a Fandfiction. Nasty business that fairy Admin, worse than Sanguine. Anyway, the curse is locked on Shali's magical signature, so you should escape it… but don't get too close, just in case."

She had no idea what a 'Fandfiction' was, but something was telling her to follow Sheogorath's advice.

"Now, I'm sorry but I'll have to go back to my guests. You see, we're in the middle of a particularly heated match of Calvinball, and I just might have a chance with the _T_ _ransmutated_ _R_ _abbit of_ _W_ _isdom_ that I caught in the last round. See you around, Vestige, and don't forget to eat your vegetables."

The Prince was about to snap his fingers to send the Vestige back in the Guild' building, when Calvin, the Senche, roared in the background.

"He says 'Invite her, the more the merrier.'" provided the Khajiit from afar.

The Vestige began to sweat when Sheogorath turned his gleaming eyes back on her, holding a mask which apparently came out of nowhere.

* * *

The Vestige appeared in the guild's building and dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Exhausted as she was, both physically and mentally, she couldn't have stayed standing even if she'd wanted to.

A concerned Valaste hastily came to her side and directed a diagnostic spell at her. The scan reporting tiredness only, she cast an invigorating spell before offering water and bread to the battered-looking apprentice, questioning her at the same time as to what had happened.

The only response she received was a mumbled "Those Khajiits are worse that Sheogorath."

In the background, unfazed by the drama, the ethereal projection of one of the greatest Arch-mage in history dived hungrily into the four magical tomes which had appeared with the girl.

His screams where soon heard through all the realms of Oblivion, all the way through Aetherius and into the Void.

* * *

4.05 – by Hvulpes

* * *

There were three types of damage types in the school of Destruction. Frost, Fire, and Shock.

Or at least normally there was. But some people were stubborn…

"I almost have it, Haskill! I almost have the perfect spell type. I enhance Poison into the Acid type, created the Sonic type and even the Anti-matter Type. All for the Destruction school! But the final type, the perfect type of damage has slipped through my grasp like slippery glue! Wait... is glue slippery? Or is it the other thing... Sour? Sweet? Ah... It will come to me. But I _will_ finish this and create the ultimate spell!"

"I'm sure you will, Milord. After all, how much longer could it take for you to refine the Cheese branch of Destruction?"

* * *

4.01 – Nature is beautiful… which also makes it so damn dangerous.

4.02 – And there you go, The Elder Scrolls Online is now activated. Welcome to the loops, Vestige. Also, with this, the TES: Oblivion compilation is turning into a general The Elder Scrolls compilation, so expect to see snips for all four sub-branches.

4.03 – Two fish-sticks obsessed individuals. They just had to met.

4.04 – The ongoing Calvin&Hobbes frenzy on the Spacebattle forum inspired this snip. Thanks to Hvulpes for the Calvinball idea.

4.05 – That sure looks like something the Hero would do.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey there, feeling insane yet? No? Well, let's solve that problem.

* * *

5.01 – thanks to Hvulpes

* * *

"Haskill! Come, quick!" called the Mad God, looking at his notes in apparent horror.

"What is it, Milord?" asked the monotone voice of the approaching chamberlain.

"I have created the world's most evil summoning spell!" explained the Anchor, pointing at a set of books he'd just finished editing. "A force way too terrible to give to the world! So I was curious as to where I should leave the books for people to discover. Any opinion?"

At that moment, the smirk on his face was downright terrifying.

"If it were me and the spell did happen to be so horrible, I would certainly destroy it. But given that Milord is... Milord, why not spreading it across Nirn?" provided the Breton, already knowing that answer to be the one his master expected.

"Nirn? Yes... yes. Gifting it to every newcomers to the Isles seemed acceptable enough but... this is better, much better."

And then, Sheogorath reacted exactly like his chamberlain had thought he would. He began to pump his fist in the air, his face split by a mad grin and his eyes positively gleaming.

"Yes, All of Nirn shall see the brilliants of my evil!" he claimed in a passionate voice, acting pretty much the part of every cheesy movies' main villain ever. "They will face the horror of the mighty... _Summon Boys Band_ _Spell!_ "

Daedric being or not, Haskill couldn't help but feel an unpleasant shiver down his spine.

Sometimes, his master was just way too mad, even for the Mad God.

* * *

5.02

* * *

"You made what?" asked the Dragonborn, a little uncertain whether he truly wanted the Hero to repeat or not.

"Business cards, to introduce myself when I meet a new looper. Wanna see?"

It seemed pretty harmless. But since it came from the Hero…

"Sure."

The Fourth Era Anchor retrieved the piece of cardboard presented by his colleague, and appraised it briefly.

7 by 5 centimeters, white 350gms card stock, high stiffness with a sober matte finishing.

Not exceptional, but pretty good quality nonetheless.

The text on it though, was rather… surprising.

 **– Hero of Kvatch, savior of Nirn since the year 433 of the Third Era.**

 ** _HeroofKvatch at blackhorsecourrier .mu_ –**

"Flip it over" advised the Hero, looking quite amused.

The Dragonborn, with a small feeling of dread growing in him, did as instructed and discovered the back of the card.

 **– Sheogorath, Daedric Lord of Madness since the Dawn Era.**

 **"Cheese for everyone!"**

 ** _MadGod at newsheot .si_ –**

"Classy."

"Isn't it?"

"What's the catch?" asked the Nerevarine, retrieving a card for himself.

If possible, the Hero's smile grew even bigger.

"Flip it again."

They did so, and discovered that the first text had disappeared, replaced by a new one.

 **– Defeater of Umaril the Unfeathered.**

 ** _DivineCrusader at prioryofthenine .mu_ –**

Seeing that, the Dragonborn began to turn the card over and over again, the offending paper constantly showing new content.

Flip.

 **– Master of the Clever Craft.**

 ** _Archmage at arcane-univ .mu_ –**

Flip.

 **– Son of the Dread Father.**

 **"If you heard a whisper right before dying, then it definitely wasn't me. I'm much stealthier than that, thank you very much."**

 ** _Listener at dark-brotherhood .vo_ –**

Flip.

 **– 34th best Tiber Septim lookalike! –**

Flip.

 **– Masked master thief.**

 **"I'm not the guy you're looking for."**

 ** _GrayFox at mindyourownbusiness .mu_ –**

The Dragonborn was mumbling stuff like "Paper doesn't work that way." and "It was much calmer when I was alone."

As for the Nerevarine, his only comment was "Amusing.", after which he passed his card to the as-of-yet silent Vestige.

"How many titles does it shows?" asked the latest addition to their little group of Anchors.

"One thousand five hundred and thirty-nine. Then the cards runs out and starts cursing randomly." replied the smirking Hero.

The Vestige could only shake his head and sigh. He was slowly getting used to the craziness of the loops, but understanding the Hero was still out of his reach.

He was pretty sure that _he didn't want_ to understand him anyway.

* * *

5.03 – by Hvulpes

* * *

Armand Christophe was waiting to see the latest members to join the Thieves Guild, when after an Argonian and a Bosmer, another man arrived. One wearing what looked like the Gray Fox's Cowl.

Except...

"Hello there." said the man in the bright pink cowl. "I'm the Pinkie Pie, and I would like to join the Thieves Guild."

Meanwhile, the Hero was wondering what other ways he could modify his collection of Gray Cowls, as well as if he could place glue in one and put it over Lex's head.

* * *

5.04

* * *

Martin Septim was a decent guy.

Not just the kind that would hold a door open for you or wash the dishes by himself despite being a guest – though he _would_ do those kind of things.

No, he was more like the guy who would sacrifice himself so that others could live. In fact, he'd done just so when Mehrunes Dagon, Daedric Prince of Destruction, had set foot on the mortal realm of Mundus.

Martin had been too late, he hadn't reached the temple in time, and the barrier protecting them from Oblivion had finally completely shattered. With the Prince now physically in the city, all hope was lost… except that it wasn't. If lighting the Dragon Fire was simply impossible, the Amulet of Kings was far from useless. By actually breaking it, Martin had freed the holy energies inside the ancient artifact, becoming an Avatar of the Head of the nines, Akatosh himself.

The Aedra, anchored and empowered by the last emperor's feelings, had brought his wrath down on the invading Daedra, banishing him back to his realm and recreating the barrier, this time irrevocably. His task done, this temporary form had turned to stone, blessing the Imperial City with one final gift, a statue of the Dragon God of Time.

It was ironic, really, considering that while the Aedra had just blessed them, he had doom them at the same time. After all, hadn't he killed Martin Septim, last of his line, last true emperor of Tamriel?

Becoming an Avatar was indeed a terrible ordeal… a lethal one. Channeling that much divine energy could very well destroy one's body and soul. In fact, it always did.

But a few were strong enough to actually merge with the god they'd impersonated. They thus became true Avatars, a brand new aspect of the god.

Martin Septim, decent guy till the end, was such a man.

And so, the Third Era ended, but contrary to popular belief, the Imperial line actually lived on through the God of Time.

* * *

The Fourth Era was something of a nightmare and disillusion for Martin Septim, decent guy and true Avatar of Akatosh.

With this last entry on his curriculum vitae, the former priest turned emperor turned divine was bounded by a set of rules ensuring minimal involvement from the Aedras in the lives of mortals.

It meant that despite his burning desire to do so, he couldn't warn his friend, the Hero of Kvatch, when said friend stumbled upon a portal to the Shivering Isles, realm of Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness.

It also meant that while he wasn't supposed to look at the Isles, or any other Daedric realm, he still had whenever he could, managing to get glimpses of his friend's life. It wasn't much, but it was enough to notice the changes. The calm and wise Hero was slowly disappearing, replaced by… something.

Powerless, almost blind to what was happening, Martin began to fear the worst, and the worst happened.

One day, the rules simply ceased to apply for the Hero.

Martin first believed that his friend had finally died. He quickly reconsidered and choose to panic instead, when the barrier usually keeping him away from the Isles vanished.

Curious and more than a little freaked out, the Avatar immediately incarnated himself, and what he discovered pleased and pained him at the same time.

On one hand, his friend was no longer human, and it meant that he could now drop by for a visit. On the other hand, his friend was no longer human, nor his friend anymore.

The Hero had mantled Sheogorath.

While Martin had previously become Akatosh's Avatar, the Hero was now a Daedric Prince, a genuine deity… the new Madgod.

Of course, the Hero of old was still here. He appeared from time to time, to share a memory or comment on something… then he faded away, and Sheogorath came back.

And it was Martin's fault.

Truly, it was.

He'd died first after all, and his death prevented him from helping his friend. If Martin had been alive, the Hero would never had ended in this situation.

Wait, no, his death had been necessary, Mehrunes Dagon had to be stopped. Yes, his death was inevitable… but what was the point of dying and becoming an Avatar if he couldn't even save his friends? It was the rules' fault. Without those stupid rules, the Hero wouldn't be –

"Excuse me, Brother Martin?"

The sudden voice startled the Avatar, but not nearly as much as the sight coming along.

In front of him stood a redguard woman dressed in a guard attire. The white tabard thrown over her armor bore a black wolf's head on a grey circle… the coat of arms of Kvatch.

"Berich Inian sends me to check on the refugees, now that the doors are safely barricaded." said the woman, designating peoples Martin hadn't noticed before. "They seem calm enough, you did a good job."

The ascended emperor would have liked to have something to say, but he could do nothing but gawk at the departing guard.

The woman, Tierra, wasn't dead, that much he could tell, so she hadn't just set foot in Akatosh's domain in Aetherius. Martin had somehow been transported to Nirn instead.

A quick look around confirmed that he was indeed on the mortal plane, more precisely in Akatosh's Chapel in Kvatch. He himself had officiated here as a priest, until the city had been attacked by the daedras.

The attack… it was so fresh in his mind, way fresher than it should have been… and Tierra had called him 'Brother Martin', instead of emperor…

She couldn't be unaware of his ascension to the throne. Thinking about it, she couldn't be unaware of his death either, yet she didn't appear troubled by his presence at all.

Martin was disturbingly aware now, that something was seriously wrong. In fact, he could feel it at this very moment. It was like a great disturbance on his soul, something felt… broken to his senses.

Time, time was messed up.

Yet it wasn't a Dragon Break, nor an intervention from Akatosh.

It was… something else.

Acting on an impulse, the Septim retreated discreetly behind a pillar and vanished from the realm, on his way to Aetherius. If a simple Avatar could feel it, then Akatosh himself most definitely could, and may very well have the answers Martin sought.

* * *

Akatosh didn't know.

Something had teared time apart, and the Dragon God of _TIME_ didn't know what nor why.

The only thing the Aedra did know was that the situation had been happening since the dawn of time, yet somehow had only began in the Second Era, shortly before the end of Molag Bal's attempted Planemeld. He had always been aware of it, yet he never had before… strange.

Martin was a teeny-tiny bit annoyed, and still quite relieved right now.

He had traveled back in time, apparently thank to a potentially dangerous phenomenon that long preceded his own time, and was now forced to relive his life.

Doing things over again would be pestering, but it was an opportunity to set things right. With the memories of a future that wouldn't exist anymore, he could prevent many tragedies, including his own death… and his friend's fall.

Strangely enough, Martin had kept the abilities and rights of a True Avatar, but was somehow still considered to be mortal. He could now freely travel from Aetherius to Mundus… and Oblivion.

It meant that the Hero wouldn't have to become Sheogorath in order to stop Jyggalag. Martin would vanquish the Prince himself.

With a smile on his face, the ascended emperor returned to the mortal plane.

Only to feel a blade press itself to his throat.

"Move, and your head will roll." threatened a low feminine voice in his ear. "Guys, we have a visitor." she continued louder.

"What kind?"

"Teleporting priest."

"Ooooh, lemme see."

Martin had to blink as a clearly excited Altmer woman entered his field of vision by literally bouncing toward him.

The elf had barely seen his face when she froze mid-bounce.

"Martin? You can teleport? Wow, strange variant." said the Altmer.

She knew him? And what did she mean by variant? Who were those women? Where were the guards and refugees?

"Martin? As in Martin Septim?" asked his assailant in a panicked voice.

"Yes, Vestige." said a male Breton, joining their little group. "You're pointing your blade at the man we're supposed to save."

The man smirked as the first woman removed her weapon hastily.

"I'm sorry, your highness." apologized the revealed Khajiit, bowing low. "I perceived you as a threat and acted on instincts."

Said emperor felt quite overwhelmed, and only managed an "It's fine, I… I understand."

The bowing woman, still bowing, rose her head, her visage expressing a profound perplexity. Martin watched her exchange glances with her two companions, and nod at the Breton who immediately took the floor.

"My friend here just treated you as royalty and called you Septim, yet you don't appear as surprised by her words as you should be. You're not exactly acting like a priest either." began the man. "Would it be too much of a stretch then, to assume that you're not standing here as Brother Martin, priest of Kvatch, but as Martin Septim, emperor of Tamriel and Avatar of Akatosh?"

Martin's eyes almost popped out of his head.

"How do you –"

Know. How did he know? The last Septim would have loved to receive an answer, but alas, his words were cut short by the Altmer who glomped him enthusiastically.

No, enthusiastically was too weak of a word, desperately was more like it. The woman was completely crushing his bones, as if fearing that he would escape her grasp, while her own body was shaking softly. And was she… sobbing?

"You're here… you're actually here…"

* * *

"Wow, Hero's crying." sarcastically commented the Vestige. "I mean, she' actually acting like a normal human… never thought I'd see the day."

"Come one, don't be like that." replied the Nerevarine, voice quite disapproving "You know who she was before."

"Yes, _was_ , past tense. That's exactly what surprises me."

The Nerevarine quirked an eyebrow.

"You do know that deep down, she's still the Hero, despite Sheogorath's influence?"

"Funny, I always see her acting like the Madgod." said the Khajiit.

"Then you clearly haven't spent enough time with her." smirked the Breton "Sheo is much easier to see, and she's usually just acting looper-weird when he's not around, but she does have her moments of normality, although they're uncommon. I'd even say that she's more of the Hero than she ever was in her baseline."

It was the vestige's turn to look puzzled.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that back then, she – at the time, he – was drown by the Prince' presence after the mantling. Sheogorath was at the front, and the Hero was just a tiny little spark, deep inside. But with the loops, the things she did and saw, she grew again, right until they basically counterbalanced each other."

"Wait a minute, didn't you just say that she was acting all Daedric Prince most of the time? And now you're talking about balance… you lost me."

"I never said anything of the sort, just that Sheogorath was more visible." said the Nerevarine, as he rose a single finger. "He's noisy, intrusive, you can't miss him."

Another finger rose.

"Then you have the Hero acting crazy, but loop-crazy. Mostly calmer than Sheo, but once again, you usually see it coming."

A third and final digit appeared.

"And then, you have the true Hero, the serious one. She's easier to overlook, being that much more discreet, but she's just as intense as the other two, though with a sharper edge, serener mindset, and a healthier relationship to her feelings and humanity."

The Breton, a little smile on his face, pointed at the still sobbing Hero and the perplexed emperor.

"Despite what it may looks like, she has no romantic feelings for him. She's just genuinely happy to see her best friend because, despite all the time she spends with us loopers, Martin Septim still beats us on that front… hence the tears. You weren't there at the time, but the Dragonborn did just the same when Lydia Awoke. It was quite heartwarming."

"Heartwar… you're seriously telling me that the most Nord of Nords cried too? Are you sure we talking about the same Dragonborn?"

"We are. He was stunned at first, then got out of his stupor and cried like a baby."

The Vestige could only nod dumbly, picturing the scene. It was strange, but he finally understood what his fellow Anchor had just explained. There was more to the Hero than what met the eye.

Then a strange image entered her mind, and she couldn't help but snort softly.

"What is it?" asked the Nerevarine.

"Nothing, I just realized… Sheogorath would have offered him cheese, wouldn't he?"

"Oh, she probably will… later on. For now, she must evacuate all those bottled-up feelings. Come on, there's still daedras running around and the captain can't handle them alone. Let's leave the two of them alone."

* * *

Martin Septim felt incredibly awkward.

There was a girl he'd never seen before in his life, hugging him like her life depended on it, and soiling his robe with tears. And if it wasn't strange enough, the woman's friends had just left, leaving him alone in this embarrassing situation.

He didn't know what to do. He'd never been that good with women's feelings before.

So he did the first thing that came to his mind… he hugged her back and waited.

The Altmer somehow knew who he was, as well as what he'd become. And with time broken as it was, he couldn't rule out the possibility of her having been close to him in another life.

Time flew by, and the woman's sob slowly disappeared. Soon enough, she was breathing steadily, and Martin would have believed she had fallen asleep, was it not for the pressure on his ribs that hadn't lessen up in the slightest.

"Sorry for that." came the muffled voice of the much calmer woman. "I just… really missed you."

"I'm sorry but, who are you?" asked the Avatar in an equal tone.

It definitely wasn't diplomatic, but he just had to know. She knew him, but he didn't know her. What was he to her, and her to him?

The Altmer looked at him, but it wasn't with the gloomy face he'd expected from his arch question. Instead, there was only understanding, and a small smile.

"Right, you never saw that face before. Don't worry, even I have trouble keeping up with it."

More question marks formed in the man's head.

She knew that he didn't know her, but had still reacted this way? Also, she had trouble keeping up with her own face? How was that even possible?

All his questions vanished from his mind though, with the Altmer's next words.

"But seriously, you can't even recognize a friend who went to Oblivion and back to save your sorry imperial ass. Sad, really. I expected more of you, highness."

It may have been her voice, or the small spark suddenly shining in her head… he recognized her.

"Y… you are..."

"The gal you left at the altar… you know, that one with the giant dragon statue?"

That smirk…

"Hero?"

"Hello, Martin. How are the loops treating you?"

* * *

"He's troubled." observed the Nerevarine from atop his Saber Cat.

"No shit Sherlock!" replied the Vestige, riding her Senche next to him.

A few meters ahead, Martin Septim was absently holding the bridles of Weynon Priory's chestnut horse. He seemed completely lost in thought, entirely disregarding the Hero's presence, not to mention their own.

"Someone should talk to him."

"Yeah, but sending the Hero is doomed to fail –" said the Khajiit, pointing as the other Anchor, riding a glowing spectral elk ahead of them and scouting for aggressive wildlife and bandits. "– and I'm not much of a diplomat either. So good luck with that."

The Breton would have wanted to argue, but knew that she was right. Sighing, he guided his mount to the emperor's side, and spoke up.

"Your highness? May I have a word with you?"

The addressed man turned a heavy look toward the Anchor. He didn't look just concerned, he looked downright lost.

"You seem troubled. Did you perhaps though of new questions regarding the loops? If that is the case, I'll happily answer them to the best of my abilities."

"I…I… What?"

The look of confusion on the emperor's face intensified for a moment, before he finally recognized his interlocutor and shook himself out of his daze.

"Excuse me, Nerevarine, I… I was… contemplating this whole looping business. Do you want something?"

"Yes, I want to let you know that, shall you ever have new questions or be in need of advices, I would be most happy to help you."

"Oh… well, thank you."

"You're most welcome."

A short yet tense silence fell on the two riders.

The Nerevarine hesitated, but finally decided than his own discomfort wasn't important at the moment and began to speak again.

"You know, you shouldn't judge her too harshly."

A second flew by, and he received no answer.

"I understand that you remember a different Hero, being yourself from the true baseline, but disregarding who she became since then is, and I'm sorry for the disrespect, pretty stupid. Yes, she mantled Sheogorath, and no, there's nothing you can do about it… but she's still that Hero who never falters and would gladly sell her soul if innocents' lives were at stakes."

The Anchor saw actual doubt in the Avatar's eyes, and knew that he would at least consider his words.

But he had to do more than just consider them. And so, as he began to steer his mount back to the Vestige's side, the Nerevarine spoke one more.

"You're like a brother to her, Martin… please, don't treat her like a stranger."

From the corner of his eyes, he caught a glimpse of the emperor almost falling from his saddle, visibly shaken.

Good.

Now he just had to wait and hope that the new looper's ultimate decision would be the one he expected… for the Hero's sake.

Putting yet another arrow in yet another rabid wolf, the Hero couldn't help but smile.

Martin had been acting gloomy all afternoon, but Ghosty had finally managed to calm him down by making him think of something else than the first Hero's sort of death during the mantling. The Martin of old wasn't back just yet, but it was just a matter of time now.

With renewed vigor, the Anchor guided the Spirit of the Hunt, an Aspect of his brother Hircine, toward a fleeting member of the pack. The hunted succumbed to the hunter, and the beast was promptly trampled.

Yep, this loop was great.

* * *

5.05

* * *

The Vestige blinked Awake in her old cell, and immediately emitted a ping. The dozens of responses she received back caused quite the headache, and she groaned in pain.

"What the heck?" yelled a stumbling Imperial, catching herself against the wall.

A tattooed Dunmer replied with an equally eloquent "Dammit!"

"Haaa, too loud!" complained an Altmer, rolling on the floor.

"Huh, my head!" said a horned Bosmer, dropping to her knees.

"Stop yelling!" hissed an Argonian.

"This one needs earplugs!" stated a Khajiit.

All around the cell, other prisoners of various races and genders were similarly falling to their knees, holding their head, cursing or simply calling for calm by shouting, which was rather counterproductive.

A few minutes of great confusion followed, until a blissful silence finally fell on the strange scene.

But as soothing at it was, the Vestige ultimately decided to break it. She had visitors after all, introducing herself was the least she could do.

"Welcome all to the Elder Scrolls branch. I am your host, the Vestige, Anchor of the current sub-branch. While I've ever received so many visiting loopers at once, I'll do my best to answer your questions and –"

"Wait, you can't be the Vestige, I am." interrupted an Argonian.

"Hey, I'm the Vestige too!" added an Nord.

"Same for this one!" continued a Khajiit.

"Yup!" chirped the horned Bosmer.

A second Bosmer, this one male, nodded.

"So what? We're all the same person?" asked the Altmer.

"Looks like it." answered the Imperial.

"Mikasa Glitch." remarked the until now silent Redguard.

Another long silence stretched, this one a little more awkward.

"So… what are we doing?" finally asked an Argonian.

"Dunno." shrugged a Breton.

"Let's deal with Molag Bal, we'll see from there." proposed the Redguard.

"Hey, wanna bet?" smirked a Dunmer.

"On what?" asked an Altmer.

"Who can kick his sorry ass the fastest."

"You're _so_ on!"

"I'm in." exclaimed an Orc.

"Same here." added a Nord.

"In-loop abilities only?" questioned the Altmer.

"Obviously." answered the Dunmer.

"Fine."

"And our gear?" asked the Orc.

"Baseline stuff. Variants and fused-loops are excluded."

"Quality limit?"

"None, but be quick to choose, we don't have that many legendary items yet."

And to prove his point, the Dunmer threw his hand into their currently shared Subspace Pocket and grabbed one of the few Legendary Voidsteel swords they had.

"Hey, no fair." complained an Imperial.

"Put that back in."

"Nope." smirked the Dunmer.

"Well then, I'm taking this." said the Nord, accessing the Pocket.

"Hey, that one wanted this axe."

"Sorry kitty, not today."

"I'll take that bow, thank you." said an Argonian.

"Why you little…"

"If nobody wants those daggers, I'll just take them."

"You do that, Imperial. I'm fine with an ice staff."

"Well, I'll myself stay out of this messy bet." suddenly said the female bosmer, causing her male counterparts to raise inquisitive eyebrows.

"Why, you're scared?"

"Don't want to break a nail?"

"No, I'm just more evolved than you lot. Plus I don't have to display my testosterone to the word to stroke my own ego."

"I'm with you, sister." hissed an Argonian.

"Me too… but I'll handle the healing, if it helps." shyly proposed a female Dunmer.

"It will, thank you." smiled the Redguard, grabbing a scimitar for himself.

At that exact moment, the Dunmer who'd caused this mess had another brilliant idea.

"Hey, once we're back on Nirn, who's up for going against Sheogorath?"

"Bonus points if he turns himself into a cookie again?"

"You're reading my mind."

And thus began the craziest and most suicidal series of bets in Tamrielic history. It would also lead to the most destructive crusade ever recorded and upset the very balance of the universe, but that's another story.

* * *

5.01 - Sheo is a real monster sometimes.

5.02 - Poor Dragonborn. Also, I so want a business card like this.

5.03 - Mmmh, the guard captain running after himself... so much potential behind the Gray Cowl.

5.04 - Welcome to the loops, Martin Septim. Please, do try to stay sanner than the Hero.

5.05 - Well, TESO is a MMO, isn't it?


End file.
